a heart can't be helped
by jonimitchell
Summary: "My name is Rachel Berry, I am your neighbor and on behalf of all of Lima, Ohio: welcome!" AU.
1. I

**a/n**: the much awaited first installment! enjoy! glee is not mine, as always, and as always dedicated to rachel, who listened to me complain about this for the better part of a month!

* * *

I

_do you wanna dance with me, baby?  
__do you wanna take a chance on maybe finding some sweet romance with me, baby?_

Rachel prides herself on many things: her unique looks (unforgettable, really, perhaps not beautiful, but memorable, surely), her perfect pitch, and her observational skills (some have called it a sixth sense, others _nosiness_).

She spends much of the summer before freshman year outside, back pressed against a spiraling oak tree in her front yard, novel spread in her lap. Her knees burn angry red from their daylong exposure, her shoulders freckle, her long dark hair lightens just a little. She watches as her elderly neighbor moves out and sells his house within a week, dark eyes wide in awe as a moving truck pulls forward and a family emerges, a balding man with his arm slung over presumably his wife's shoulders, a boy about her age or younger, most likely a few inches taller than her and dressed in a much nicer outfit than she's ever seen a boy wear in Lima, and finally, a very tall, lanky boy trailing behind. The tall one is broad, too, clearly transitioning from boyhood to manhood, and she guesses he must be a few years her senior.

Daddy encouraged her to befriend Mr. Peterson, and she'd enjoyed him well enough, liked listening to his stories and watching the fireflies light up like stars on earth, but she looks forward to his pushing her to befriend these new neighbors, with boys her age, and they'll surely be better company than a crotchety old man. So it doesn't really surprise her when Daddy hands her a plate of cookies and instructs her to bring them to the neighbors, a few days after they've moved in.

She wears a sundress with kittens printed all over it, her long hair pulled into a ponytail knotted with a ribbon, and confidently strides to their front door. It's humid, the air heavy with moisture that seems to seep into her body, collecting in perspiration at her neck. She hates feeling sweaty, feeling dirty, but she puts on a bright smile when she rings the doorbell. This is good practice, she figures, for her future acting career, this little exercise in pretending it isn't extremely hot outside.

Footsteps pad across what she remembers as a hardwood floor and the door swings open, revealing the tall boy, and getting a good look at him, now, she realizes: he is _cute_.

His brow pinches in confusion as he says, "Are you, like, a religious recruiter or something?"

"No!" (She's a bit surprised by how much she likes his voice.) "My name is Rachel Berry, I am your neighbor and on behalf of all of Lima, Ohio: welcome!"

"Oh." He looks at the cookies, then back at her, and his eyes drop a little and she wonders if one of the straps on this damn dress is falling, but with a quick roll of her shoulders all seems to be in place. He focuses his hazel eyes on her and she thinks she's probably never seen a prettier color. "D'you wanna come in?"

"Um." This doesn't usually happen. She glances behind her, at the inviting green grass in her front yard and back to him, this tall boy with his deep voice and freckles and dimples and dark brown hair and she says yes before she even comes to a complete decision.

"Cool." He widens the door, calls for his mom and someone named Kurt—that must be the other boy she saw, and within seconds, the two appear.

"Hello," she greets pleasantly.

"This is Rachel. She brought cookies. But she's just a neighbor, so."

"Hello, Rachel, I'm Mrs. Hudson-Hummel," the woman greets, smiling kindly and sticking her hand out for Rachel to shake. "This is Kurt," she indicates to the shorter boy, "and Finn. My husband Burt is at work today."

"Nice to meet you all." She feels shy, suddenly, under Kurt's scrutinizing eye.

"Excuse me, but are those cats on your dress?"

"_Kurt_."

"What? There is nothing acceptable about wearing cat printed clothing after kindergarten. _Nothing_."

"Kurt, don't be rude!"

"I like it," Finn says, shrugging slightly. "It's, uh, cute."

"Finn, you can_not_ be serious. Well, maybe you are. You do wear a lot of flannel."

"I should really get going—"

"Take me with you," Kurt says, "and show me the rest of your wardrobe so I don't lose all faith in humanity."

"Um, okay?"

She waves goodbye to Finn and his mother, and Kurt hooks arms with her and leads her away.

* * *

Rachel is certain that she has found her soul mate in Kurt Hummel—her _platonic_ soul mate, of course, as she firmly believes in friendship at first sight. And after critiquing her wardrobe for an afternoon and deeming her animal themed sweaters as _approaching ironic_, they had watched _Funny Girl_ and forged a friendship.

She's glad to have him, really. They sit and talk and talk and talk everyday, they even have _sleepovers_ and she's ever looking forward to her first day of high school with Kurt by her side.

One bright July morning, she wakes up to the pervasive sound of a lawnmower outside her window. Surely, it's not her house—Papa and Daddy schedule landscaping for Thursday afternoons—so she slips out of bed and peeks out the window only to see Finn pushing the lawnmower back and forth in his front yard. She tugs her bottom lip into her mouth when she observes his distinct lack of a shirt, and she guesses he's normally fairly pale skinned as his shoulders are tinged red over his slight tan.

She turns away from the window, and when she gets dressed for her day, she doesn't close the blinds and feels just a _little_ bit daring knowing that maybe, perhaps Finn can see her.

Kurt invites her over for dinner that night and maybe she's imagining it, but Finn's face nearly turns purple when he sees her in the foyer.

* * *

"Kurt, tell me about your family," she urges, folding her legs beneath her on his bed. Kurt glances up, lifts one irritated eyebrow, and continues prepping her cuticles for a manicure.

"What about my family?"

"We're always talking about me—not that I mind—and my drama. Tell me some of _yours_."

She knows the basics, of course, that Kurt's mom died when he was eight and his dad met Finn's mom and they just got married at the end of May, she knows that he's got one set of grandparents and a very distant uncle who lives in Cleveland. Kurt's just recently told his dad he's gay, and his dad's great and completely supportive, and Rachel tells him regardless, if he really wants or needs, he can talk to her dads. But she wants to know more than that, she wants the details, the nitty-gritty drama of the family.

The Finn of it all, if she's being honest.

Kurt's silent for a moment. "I don't know, Rachel. One day, it was me and my dad against the world and the next, we were moving here, with Carole and Finn, and it's not like I don't love them or anything, I do, I just miss it being me and my dad, sometimes."

"Understandable, of course. I can't imagine if I suddenly had siblings…"

"Don't get me wrong, Finn's a great brother, it's just…_weird_ to suddenly have to divide my time with my dad in half, and now Dad doesn't have to force me to go to games with him and stuff since he's got Finn, but I miss going with him just to spend time with him," Kurt sighs. "Are you completely sure you want princess pink on your nails?"

"Yes. Completely."

* * *

In September, she gets locked out of her house after walking home from a midday private Pointe lesson. Her recital is at the end of the month and she needs to be perfect. _Perfect_.

What's perfect, of course, is her ambling up to her front door only to realize the doors are all locked and she's forgotten her key, and unfortunately for her, her garage is unattached to her house.

"Hey!" A familiar voice—Finn's—calls. She turns and waves, feels suddenly shy in her black leotard and dance tights. "You locked out, or looking for something?"

"Um—I'm—locked out. Forgot my keys."

He makes her nervous. They've been in school for about a month, now, and he's one of the popular kids, plays for the football team as quarterback, and he's friends with the very people who toss slushies at her in the halls, or draw pornographic pictures of her on bathroom stalls. She's most certain Finn does not act as his misogynist, extremist friends do, but it bothers her that he seemingly _condones_ such anarchy, especially the cruelty they implement on his stepbrother!

Regardless, she can feel a thunderstorm brewing in the graying sky, so when he offers shelter in his house, she greatly accepts. Luckily, the sky opens just as she steps inside the house.

"Thanks, Finn. Is Kurt home?"

"Nope." He's walking into the kitchen, so she follows him precariously, mind jumping into a scenario where all his popular friends are waiting for her in the kitchen holding a giant slushie. So realistic is her imagination that when she steps into the familiar room, she squints her eyes just a bit, preparing for a cold sugary onslaught.

It doesn't come, though, and she relaxes for a moment.

"Where is Kurt, then?"

"Doctor, maybe? Dunno." His eyes look tired, pinched at the sides, and she guesses he probably just woke up. "So, you came from…dance?"

His eyes linger on the column of her throat, exposed from her bun tied at the nape of her neck. She wishes she had a sweater, but all that's in her bag with her are her Pointe shoes, a spare pair of tights, a hairbrush, and two water bottles. "Yes," she responds, fingers reaching to her unknot her bun, "we have our recital in a few weeks, so I scheduled a private lesson to ensure that all of my pirouettes and plies are tailored to perfection."

"Oh, that's…" He's distracted by something, and she glances up from her lap to see his eyes darting to the wall beside her. She turns and glances out the window to see the storm still raging. "Cool. Real cool, Rachel."

"Yes, I believe it is quite _cool_."

He has this funny little smirk on his face as he leans his elbows on the countertop. "I like the way you talk, all adult and stuff. You sound way smarter than…like, everyone."

"Thank you," she says graciously, and an awkward silence befalls them. She can barely stand it before, "So, you're on the football team?"

Finn smiles. "Yeah, I'm quarterback."

"Do you…like it?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's not like…I'm not super into it, or anything, like the guys on the team and stuff. But, I guess. It's cool, and being cheered for is really awesome, you know? Plus—" He looks away, cheeks pinking. "Never mind."

"You're very good at it." He glances up, face reddening further.

"Really?"

"Yes. I don't know much about football, unfortunately, but you seem to be able to throw the ball and run, so."

He laughs, and it's a nice sound, smooth like sea glass, and she imagines spinning it around in her head later, when she struggles to slip into sleep and all her thoughts invariably drift to him.

It's odd, because she barely knows him, but she _likes_ him, and in a way, she kind of just understands that he's not laughing at her, but with her, and that resonates in her stomach and she tucks that away, that feeling of a boy—a _popular_ boy nonetheless—sharing a laugh with her, files it beside the timbre of his laugh to thumb through later.

* * *

Kurt comes to her dance recital on the final night, but instead of bringing their friends Tina and Mercedes, he brings Finn, instead. It surprises her so much that she nearly cries, but she composes herself and graciously accepts the bouquet of lilies (stargazers) from Finn as well as their words of praise.

"You didn't have to come," she tells Finn as Kurt wraps his arm around her waist and squeezes her to his side, producing a surprised squeal from her lips when he pinches her there just slightly.

"How d'you stand on your toes like that?" Finn inquires, eyes bright with curiosity.

"Practice, duh, Finn," Kurt interjects with a liberal roll of his eyes.

"Very true. Also, I can't convey all my secrets just yet, can I?"

"I guess not," Finn finishes. His lips curl into a smile. "Rachel, honestly, you were so, so good."

"Really?" Kurt's glaring at her, at Finn, too, but she barely pays attention to him.

"Yeah. I mean, I don't know much about ballet, but you're very talented. Good at the spins and stuff."

"Okay," Kurt interrupts, "anyways. Do you want to come over? I just bought _Mary Poppins_ and I was thinking we could watch it."

"Sounds great, Kurt." She bites her lip. "Finn, do you like _Mary Poppins_?"

"Is that the one with the nun?"

"No, Rachel, he does not." Kurt's being a little inconsiderate, considering Finn's driving them back to their house and everything in his brand new truck, but she guesses she understands that he wants all her attention.

And she loves Kurt, she does—adores him, really—but there's something so special about the way Finn smiles at her that makes her want to explore it—to explore _him_.

* * *

On her fifteenth birthday, Finn gives her a necklace and stops by before her (other) friends come over for a sleepover.

"Pink's your favorite color, right?" He inquires and she nods a little dumbly as he sweeps her hair off her shoulder to clasp the little heart necklace around her neck. "Turn."

"How do I look?"

"Cute," he responds, smiling a little. She wrinkles her nose. "Good day?"

"Yeah," she sighs, pressing her fingers on the tiny pink heart. "This is too much, Finn!"

"Just enough."

"You are always so valiant and kind when it comes to me. It really makes me feel like—like, um…family."

Sometimes, Finn stares at her with this soft eyed gaze that she can't seem to decipher, but it permeates her heart, makes it thrum and sing and dance and jump, makes her feel so _full_, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. And sometimes, she thinks that maybe that gaze means he _likes_ her, because once in a while the gaze seems to slip into his voice, makes him sound like a different person but still completely, totally Finn.

Which confuses her. In November, he started dating this awful girl in his grade, which puzzles her, and perhaps she's presumptuous in assuming he likes her, but he's always staring, and he's given her this necklace and—well, regardless, he's two years her senior and her best friend's brother. He's completely off limits.

"Family, huh?" She nods. He purses his lips and looks outside. "I've gotta go. Aren't you having Kurt over later?"

She nods and walks him to the door, fingers squeezing the pendant he's given her. "Thank you very much for this necklace, Finn."

"S'from all of us," he answers shyly, brushing his hand over the back of his head. "Well, happy birthday, Rach."

She smiles and he puts his hand on her shoulder, and he's so big, now, somehow bigger than when she first met him. He still looms over her by a foot, but he's broader, now, less lanky and more muscled from football, but his hair is still messy, he's still got that spattering of freckles on his nose, still got those sweet dimples that always make her smile, too.

His hands are big, though, so big that he can just brush her collarbone with his thumb, and before she knows it, he leans down and presses his mouth soundly on her cheek. When he pulls away, he stares at her for one long second and he doesn't say anything, but she thinks she would very much like to press her mouth against his, just once, to get him out of her head. After all, she has a long journey to Broadway ahead of her and she will _not_ be distracted.

"Um," she stutters a little breathlessly, "um—thank you."

He nods and pulls his hands off of her. "Happy birthday, Rachel."

And just as quickly as he came, he's already gone.

* * *

She thinks about kissing him a lot, and she wonders if he thinks about kissing her, too. He'll smile at her in the hallway one moment and be holding hands with his girlfriend the next. He's quite the conundrum.

Much of her time is spent at Kurt's, especially in the early days of spring, and one such afternoon, she passes by Finn's room to see him sitting at his desk, shoulders hunched.

"Finn?" She knocks on the door and leans on the white paneling of his doorway.

"Oh, hey." He turns in his chair and simpers, but his brow is pinched and he looks upset.

"We're friends, right?"

He licks his lips before answering tentatively, "Yeah—yeah, of course."

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Rachel takes initiative and sits on his bed, folding her legs beneath her. "Um."

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Internally, she berates herself for ignoring social etiquette. Papa _always_ tells her she's much too rash, and she can't say she disagrees, really.

Finn shakes his head and spins in his chair so it's facing him. "Quinn's just riding my ass about this dumb prom stuff. Can I give you some advice?"

She nods aptly, widens her eyes to show him that yes, she _is_ listening to what is surely to be his sage advice. "Yes."

"Don't get on prom court. All it'll do is—is stress you out."

"Sound advice." She bites her bottom lip. "My advice in return is: don't let Quinn ruin prom for you! Don't you like dancing?"

"No."

"What!" She is absolutely flabbergasted! "How can you not _love_ dancing?"

"Rach, I like…suck and stuff."

Narrowing her eyes, she stares him down with a condescending look in her eyes. "Oh, Finn, I'm certain you have untapped potential and just need to be taught!"

He smiles good-naturedly, but shakes his head. "Nah, Rachel, I'm not good like you at all that performing stuff."

She's surprised. "You think I'm good?"

"Yeah. I mean, you didn't have, like a_ lead_ in the spring musical, but you definitely were the best dancer and you always looked real happy, so."

"I didn't know you saw the show."_ Why didn't you wait for me after_, she wants to add, but his ears are just turning pink, so she lets the statement float between them.

"'Course I did—had to support my, um…my brother."

Perhaps if this were any other day—any other situation—she would stand between his parted knees and kiss him, thank him for coming to see _her_ in her show (he really is a terrible liar), but she just clasps her fingers together and excuses herself from his bedroom.

* * *

Finn's outside when she comes home from a date with a boy from Carmel, his name's Jesse and he's a grade level above her and already has his license and she likes him, she really does, but she doesn't feel about him the way she does about Finn, who's standing in the dim light of his front porch, and she wonders if she's being paranoid but she thinks she can feel his eyes on her when she lets Jesse walk her to her door and kiss her.

She walks inside only to watch Jesse pull out of her driveway and head home. As soon as he disappears far down the road, she sneaks back outside. Her parents won't even notice, besides, she has an entire hour until curfew.

"Finn!" She calls. "What're you doing out here?"

He clears his throat, eyes firmly set ahead of him as she joins him on the front porch. "Watering Mom's garden."

"Oh." There's no hose.

"I finished, like, five minutes ago," he explains hastily, and his lips push out this little sigh after a moment's silence. "Who's the guy?"

"That's Jesse."

Is it wrong of her to be enjoying this? He must think he's so hard to read, so sneaky, but he has clearly second guessed Rachel's _superb_ perception. "You dating him?"

"No, no." She decides to throw him a bone, "He's not really my type. Too…ambitious."

"Ambitious?"

"Yeah." She sits on the first step. "He spent much of our date detailing his desire to be on Broadway and then become an EGOT."

"What's an EGOT?" He sits on the second step so they're closer to being eye-level, and she thinks if it weren't so dark she'd be able to see his fair skin painted red.

It's not quite spring, not quite summer. It's warm with a sweater and cool without, and a breeze wafts through the leafy buckeye trees in Finn's front yard and the air is absolutely sweet with coming rain.

"It really just means you've won an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony. They're different awards," she elaborates. "Barbra is one, as well as Audrey Hepburn."

"Oh, yeah, okay." He's silent for a moment and doesn't look at her when he asks, "So what _is_ your type?"

She could tell him _you, Finn_, and kiss him right here, bathed in silver moonlight, she could tell him she thinks she's fallen in love with him even though she's fifteen years old and should be playing the field, but instead, she puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

"I guess you'll have to find that out yourself."

* * *

The first time he kisses her, _really_ kisses her, that is, is in the back corner of Burt's tire shop.

Papa brings her with him to get the oil changed on the Mazda. She has dance rehearsal in three hours, and he tells her he'll drop her off after the car is serviced. Rachel may be extraordinarily talented, but she's just like other teenagers in that she doesn't exactly jump up and down when her parents suggest spending time with her at a _tire_ _shop._

But Finn's been spending his summer there, so she supposes it isn't _too_ awful. A (not so) secret part of her wishes for Finn to be here today, and she decides it's high time to find out once Papa's opened his briefcase and begun looking through some work documents.

"I'll be right back, Papa," she tells him and disappears down the hallway. With a surreptitious glance behind her, she slips through the customer door and sets about finding Finn. He isn't hard to miss, as he's the only one working today, plus, he's standing right beside a blue car, lip of the engine popped up.

She's becoming quite stealthy. When she stands beside Finn, he doesn't even register her presence (though that could be due to his encompassing work) until she says, "Hi, Finn."

"Jesus!" He exclaims, jumping and nearly hitting his head on the top of the engine. "Rachel, you can't be back here without, like, a helmet and some protective padding on!"

"Oh, come on, Finn," she rolls her eyes, "it's not _that_ dangerous."

He purses his lips and tightens the set of his jaw. "Can you please make a like a good customer and return to the waiting room?"

"Nope."

"Fine. If you _insist_ on endangering your fragile life, the least you could do is help me out."

He instructs her to sit on this table beside the car and briefs her on the tools he'll need her to pass him. Finn is silent as he works, so she takes some time to appreciate the coveralls on his big frame, the grease on his fingers and nose.

"Do you have a radio?"

"Nope." He glances at her briefly, asks her to pass him some tool she doesn't even remember him teaching her about, and at her responding silence, reaches across her and grabs it. His body leaning on hers, even briefly, takes her aback and she can smell the clean aftershave he uses as well as grease, and she surmises it's very fitting: manly, strong, perfectly _Finn_.

"Can I sing for you?" He's never heard her sing before.

"Um. Sure, if you don't suck," he teases, cheeks dimpling.

"Finn Hudson! I assure you I do not _suck_."

"Prove it."

"Fine." She sings him her latest favorite song, an old seventies song she's sure he's never really heard, but she manages to pull him from his work and he just stares at her as she sings, gaze growing ever sweeter as she draws out the final note, and then, they're bathed in silence.

"Rachel, I—"

"I know it was a little rough," she teases, "but I do believe that I do not suck."

"No, you don't suck at all, you're like the opposite of suck, Rach, I've never—I don't think I've ever heard such a pretty voice my entire life." He closes his eyes for a moment, places his hand over his heart. "I can really feel it, right here."

She blushes, not used to such fawning from someone other than her parents. "Thank you, Finn."

There's a cadence, a rhythm in his movements as he works that reminds her of the drum set in the corner of his bedroom she's never asked him about, rhythm in his words as he tells her a random story, and she finds herself drawn into it, drawn into him, swallowed by the lilt of his voice and the steady mechanical sound of tools at work.

He finishes work on the blue car and moves onto the next, Papa's silver Mazda, and he glances at her dubiously before grasping her firmly by the waist and lifting her off the table.

"Gotta work under the car," he explains and sets about doing so. She finds a suitable place and sits on the ground, toolbox opened beside her.

She feels somewhat out of place here, dressed in her dance tights and leotard, only covered by an oversized lilac sweater that exposes the very top of her right shoulder. Indulgently, she wonders if Finn thinks she looks pretty today, if he thinks she _ever_ looks pretty. After all, it's summer, now, and she's technically a sophomore and while that means he is technically a senior, she doesn't let it throw her off. She's a whole year older than when she met him, and that means something.

He finishes the car and sits beside her, leans back so his shoulder brushes hers, and she doesn't want to leave, wants to stay with him and talk and laugh and smile and blush and she's certain this first love will be her only love.

She turns her head to say something to him, something along the lines of _I have to go to dance, now_ but he kisses her before she can even say anything, no syllable escapes her lips, just a surprised _oh!_ that barely makes it's way out of her lips before it's swallowed in Finn's mouth.

Kissing him it's different; it's nice. It's not like the movies, no sparkly fireworks just a slow, steady burn that's like coffee percolating on a gray, wintery morning, it's like the cool relief of the ocean on burned skin. Kissing Finn is everything and nothing at the same time, a sweet happy little dichotomy, and he smells overwhelmingly like grease, like his work, and she knows instinctively that the hand he rests on her cheek will leave a black smudge of grease on her cheekbone, but she can't bring herself to care.

He releases these little sighs when he kisses her, little groans that tell her he likes this, likes her, and he slips his tongue into her mouth, and she's a little caught off guard but she likes that he's spontaneous, that he's exciting, surprising.

After a moment, he pulls away, and his gaze is dizzying, and her heart feels like it could absolutely burst. He's breathing heavily, and she is, too, and she's surprised when he leans in and just kisses her right on the nose.

He doesn't say anything when he walks her to the front of the shop, explains to Papa that he caught her wandering around the store like she's a little girl, and they share this glance that makes her feel so, so small, and not _good_ small like the way she feels when Finn stoops to hear her say something, or the way he bends to hug her sometimes. She's beginning to feel the seams of her heart tighten and unravel simultaneously, and this upheaval, it's so, so, so frightening to her, feeling this way, so she buries it in her afternoon at dance, focuses not on the dumb tall boy who has managed to completely enrapture her but on perfecting her pirouettes.

* * *

Rachel is infuriated, to say the least, when Finn completely dodges even saying _hello_ to her in the following days. After a week of his lame excuses, she decides it is high time to get an explanation for his weird behavior and seeks him out one hazy afternoon in late June. She chooses this day in particular because Kurt is in Cleveland for a show with Burt and Carole, and Finn is left behind for the evening.

She finds him lying in a hammock in his backyard, asleep. Upon closer inspection, she notes the telltale signs of sunburn on his face and neck, and shakes her head at his carelessness.

"Finn," she says softly, pressing her fingers against his warm skin, "_Finn_."

He blinks sleepily and gazes up at her with eyes like whiskey, covers her hand on his face with his own hand, murmurs, "Hey, baby," in this sweet, throaty voice that makes her heartbeat quicken.

"You have sunburn," she tells him in a very matter-of-fact, stern voice that she hopes will convey her newfound _hatred_ of him.

"I do?" He sits up suddenly, lets her hand drop from his face, and sighs, feeling the tightness in his skin. "Oh, fuck. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"I do not appreciate your creative use of language."

"Whoops, sorry." He blinks a few times, shaking the lethargy from his mind, and quirks one half of his mouth into a semi-smile. "What did you need, Rachel?"

"You've been avoiding me."

"Oh, that."

"_Yes_, that! Finn, you kissed me, then treated me like a child, and then ignored me for a week and a half afterwards!"

"Look, Rachel—"

"You make no sense Finn, I hope you know that. You spend an entire _year_ flirting with me and pushing and pulling me in and out of platonic friendship and date other girls and get jealous when I go out with boys that I like and you hug me and listen to my rants, and act all angsty one moment and completely normal the next, and when you_ finally_ kiss me, you ruin it and I just—I want to know _why_," her voice has lifted into an astoundingly high decibel and she's worried momentarily about what the other neighbors may think.

"Why? Rachel, isn't it—isn't it completely obvious?" His voice is loud, kind of angry, but not quite _yelling_ yet, for which she's grateful. "Don't you understand?"

"No!"

"Rachel, I've got all these intense _feelings_ for you, a girl who should be like a little sister to me, considering your age and friendship with Kurt!"

"You—what?"

He shakes his head. "Like you don't know, Rachel. I'm _completely_ in love with you and we can never be together properly."

* * *

**tbc**


	2. II

**wow, i'm sorry this took so long but enjoy this! thank you for all the lovely, lovely comments and i hope you enjoy this second installment as much as the first!**

* * *

II

_he's my sunshine in the morning, he's my fireworks at the end of the day_

_he's the warmest chord I ever heard, play that warm chord, play and stay, baby_

Kurt runs his fingers through her hair languidly, and she sighs feeling his fingers detangle the knots. "Have you ever thought about a bob?"

"Do you think I have the appropriate bone structure?"

"Oh, definitely."

She's not so sure. She likes her long hair, the way it hangs to nearly the small of her back, except Kurt's always trying to get her to do something with it other than leaving it straight.

"Really, Rachel, your hair is so versatile. At _least_ let me change your part."

She glances at Kurt in the mirror and after a moment, nods. "The change _would_ be nice…"

Kurt squeals and hops up and down and pulls out his set of brushes and combs. "Look at this brush," he demands, pressing a white brush with soft bristles into her hands. "It's going to make your hair _so_ soft."

He parts her hair on the right side of her face and lifts her hair to brush it over her left shoulder, but drops all the hair and gasps. "What, Kurt? What's wrong?"

She imagines boils, perhaps a spider egg nested in the skin of her neck, chicken pox, but he only gasps in response and after she snaps her fingers in his face does he enter, "_Rachel Barbra Berry_, who gave you this _hickey_?"

"No one!"

"What?"

"I burnt myself trying to curl my hair yesterday!" Her heart rate slows down just so. "You know how hopeless I am with a beauty regimen."

"That is very true. Oh, good. I thought you were _keeping_ something from me."

"Never, Kurt." She bites her lip, crosses her thumbs over each other. "We really _should_ spend more time together, though, don't you think?"

"Yes. In fact, I received an invitation to see the Dalton Academy glee club perform at the community theater, do you want to come with me and Finn?"

"_Finn_?"

"Yes, Finn. Our parents, too." They climb on the bed and lean on the headboard, and Kurt turns and squints at her. "Do you not like Finn?"

"I just don't know him."

"He likes you," Kurt offers.

"I—what?"

"Finn. He likes you." Her mouth pops open. "But I told him he was too old for you, besides, Rachel, even if he weren't, I don't think you two are even compatible."

"So, you wouldn't want me to date Finn?"

"No, I don't want to share the little time I get with you with anyone, _especially_ him." She laughs and leans her head on his shoulder. "Plus, you're both like siblings to me, and seeing you two date it'd be—daresay, somewhat incestuous."

She opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted by a knock on the door, and Finn sticks his head in the door. "Speak of the devil," she murmurs so only Kurt can hear.

"Yes, Finn?"

"Um, Burt wants to talk to you."

"Right this second?"

"Right this second." Finn doesn't look at her.

Kurt groans, and very loudly and dramatically gets off the bed and shoves past Finn. Faintly, Rachel can hear him yelling, "_Dad! What could you _possibly_ need at this hour_?"

Finn's still standing in the doorway, but now he's staring at her. "Hi."

She curls on her side beneath the duvet. "Hi."

Within seconds, he's on the bed beside her, pressing his mouth against hers. "We don't have much time," he bemoans, his breath pushing against her lips. He runs his fingers through his hair. "Soft."

"I know." He kisses her again.

"Come out with me tomorrow?"

"Where?"

He slips out of bed. "I wanna show you something."

* * *

He takes her to this lake a few miles outside Lima's border and she can do nothing but glare at him, even as he opens her door and unbuckles her seatbelt. She _will not_ budge. "Baby, c'mon."

"I am in no way prepared to spend a day in the sun, Finn! You're very lucky I keep a spare bathing suit and bottle of suntan lotion in my bag, but unfortunately, it's only 15 SPF and I prefer to use 50 or higher, so if I die from skin cancer, expect me to _haunt_ you!"

"You're cute when you get all worked up."

"I'm going to drown you in that goddamn river, Finn Hudson." He rolls his eyes and grabs her hands to help her hop out of his truck, which is about five feet off the ground and a very steep jump.

"Remind me to never try and surprise you again."

She tries to be mad at him but the idea of doing this again, going on another date with him, makes her flush in pleasure and reach for his hand to intertwine their fingers. His fingers are much bigger than his but fit nicely in hers, in a way, he seems to fill every single one of her blank spaces. She leans against him as they walk to the edge of the deserted lake.

"Is it safe to swim here?"

"Yeah, they did, like, a huge study on it last summer and it's fine. Usually, it's packed, but it's a Thursday and most people are working and stuff."

Later, after they've submerged in the water and she's attempted to drown him three times unsuccessfully, they lay on a blanket from Finn's truck in the sun, her head on his arm, legs bent with his.

"Finn, what…what _are_ we?"

"I don't know," he sighs. "You're my girl."

"But is this just between us, or—and is it exclusive?"

"Well, I don't want anyone else to be my girl, and I don't want anyone else to be _your_ guy, so." He sighs after a minute, fingers the clumped, drying ends of her hair. "I want the world to know how I feel, Rachel, but—but Kurt, our parents, people at school they're just gonna—"

"Ruin it," she finishes, pressing her cheek against his bicep. "So, what? We're in a—a secret relationship?"

"Is that what you want?"

She pauses, weighs very carefully the pros and cons, and the allure of the drama of a clandestine romance with an older boy far outweighs any cons, so she finds herself nodding. "I want it, Finn."

* * *

Rachel knows that as a star she is meant to be seen, watched, revered, but sneaking around with Finn is rather exciting. It's clandestine, she tells him, curling her fingers in his shirt. Currently, she is perched a little precariously atop his chest, and he's sprawled out on the sectional sofa in her family room. Her dads are out of town for the weekend, so she's spending as much time as possible with him.

"Clandestine?" She nods, tucking her head under his chin and sighing. "You tired?"

"A little."

"Well, you did wake up at the crack of dawn today. Take a nap, baby."

As always, her stomach rolls a little when he calls her that and she smiles, tucking her head beneath his chin, feels her cheeks warm with blush. She really, really loves him. "But I'll be wasting my precious Finn time."

"I'll probably still be trapped beneath you when you wake up, and you can have me then, okay?"

"Okay," she mumbles, and he kisses her head and tells her he loves her and she doesn't respond because for some reason whenever she tries to respond, her throat dries and she finds herself temporarily mute.

It worries her, because she loves him, she does, from the very top of her heart to the soles of her feet, but her mouth is unyielding so she just tucks every bit of his love into a pocket of her mind to save for later, when she isn't caught in his embrace, her heart pounding against his.

* * *

She thought the whole Dalton invitational thing was a joke, but Kurt wakes her up at six in the morning to drive all the way out there, or rather, _Finn_ drives and Kurt sits in the back and falls asleep and it's like he's encouraging stolen kisses at red lights or Finn pressing her hard against the door of the family bathroom in a gas station when they stop for coffee.

During the performance, Kurt keeps one hand on his heart, the other over his mouth, and he is _very_ moved. Rachel supposes they are very good, these Warblers, as they call themselves, but she finds herself a little bored by the performance—the dancing, mostly—and excuses herself, hoping that Finn will catch the hint and follow her.

It's a nice school, with Romanesque architecture and white marble floor, but she thinks she would get lost in all the monotony if she attended this school.

After a few moments, Finn pushes out of the auditorium, shaking his head. "That was so fucking boring, I—"

She interrupts him, stretches on her toes and kisses him hard. "Language," she reminds him, parting for breath as his mouth presses insistently against her neck. He pulls away the collar of her shirt just a little and sucks at the edge of her collarbone. "Finn, wait, I _told_ you, no more hickies."

"All right, baby. Whatever you say." He brushes her hair behind her ear. "I was dying in there."

"You were drooling through most if it."

"I was _not_. I have a glandular condition."

"Oh, do you? I'm so sorry." She rolls her eyes, then glances at the auditorium worriedly. "We should head back inside. Kurt will worry."

"Rach, he barely even registered that we left. He's totally into the Hooters, or whatever."

"_Warblers_, Finn, as in the songbird, not the cheap tit bar."

"The—the—" She squeezes his cheeks. "You just said tit."

"I did." He kisses her, this time, and she feels his mouth curving into a smile beneath her lips. "Let's go back in."

"Hold on, just a second. I just…" He rests his hand against her shoulder, pressing closer to the base of her neck. "You just make me really happy and stuff, and I just wanted you to know that."

Her heart thrums and she presses herself into his arms. "Finn, you're like—you're my sunshine."

She feels his mouth on the crown of her head, and she smiles against the soft cotton of his tee shirt.

* * *

In a town as small as Lima, the entire town crowds together in the center to celebrate the Fourth of July, with firemen setting off fireworks and most of the population heavily drunk. She used to hate it, but Kurt tells her that he's bringing the boy from Dalton to the festival as they thumb through appropriate dresses at the mall.

This year, though, she has Finn to escape with during the rumpus and she knows that with Kurt busy with the boy—Blaine's his name—she'll be free to be with Finn without being suspect.

The night of the festival is hot and muggy and the town square is completely packed. Kurt runs off with Blaine moments after they arrive and she's left alone to wander through the crowd, nose wrinkling at the smell of beer and hot dogs. The smell is heady and off-putting and she thinks even if she _weren't_ a Jewish vegetarian she would hate that smell.

Just as she's about to pull out her phone and call Finn, two familiar hands squeeze at her hips, causing her to squeal in surprise, heart thumping against her ribs. "Finn!"

"Hiya, sunshine," he murmurs, and his eyes are a little glassy and his cheeks are flushed and when he kisses her he tastes unmistakably like beer and she pulls away and jabs him in the chest accusingly.

"You're _drunk_!"

"Not so loud," he whispers, grabbing her wrist and tugging her out of the fray. "And 'm not drunk. I just had _one_ beer, and I grabbed another for you to share with me."

"Finn, future Broadway stars—"

"Rachel, it's not like you're driving, or getting drunk, or _anything_. Let loose a little. C'mon, I found a good spot for us tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah, to watch the fireworks!"

Finn leads her to the part of the town square that ebbs into a woodsy park, which overlooks a clearing, which is where the fireworks are shot off.

"Where are you taking me?" The population of people has thinned to a few stragglers, mostly because no one moves to the park until dusk.

"When I wasn't even, like, born yet my old man built me this tree house that I've kept up the past few years, and I don't know why the town didn't tear it down, but it's at the edge of the park, and that is where we are going to be watching the fireworks tonight."

"Your dad?" He nods in response, slipping his fingers into hers.

Finn doesn't really talk about his father, besides mentioning heading to his grave on Father's Day and his birthday, so sometimes she's really curious, but he doesn't even _like_ talking about it, and she always lets the subject rest. Besides, she understands. Though she enjoys covering a variety of subjects with Finn, they often steer clear from their missing parents (her mother, his father).

Once they've climbed the rungs into the tree house they sit on the edge of the doorway, feet dangling into the open air and Finn hands her a beer. "Finn," she says reluctantly, "I'm not sure about this."

"I'll share it with you, if you want."

She looks from the bottle, then back to him. "No. I want to drink it."

He nods and rests his hand on her thigh as she takes her first hesitant sip and when her nose wrinkles involuntarily, he laughs, and his eyes scrunch up at the edges and she knows he's laughing with her so she nudges him in the chest with her elbow.

Later, when she's leaning her head on his shoulder and watching as night creeps over the horizon, the taste of beer and Finn lingering on her tongue, she squeezes his thigh and sighs contemplatively, "I can't believe it's already the Fourth of July."

"Why's that?"

"Summer always seems to speed by after the holiday."

"Baby girl, we've got like, almost two whole months 'till school."

She huffs, hooking her leg behind his. Her tongue feels dry, and she isn't drunk but her head feels a little funny, and she turns her head and smacks a kiss on Finn's rough cheek. "You need to shave," she whines, pressing her hand on his opposite cheek.

Finn wrinkles his nose and puts his hand on her thigh. "It's summer, girl."

"I suppose I can deal with the scruff." She hums and presses another kiss to his cheek, lower this time, just above his jaw, and she rests her forehead there when her lips part from the spot. "It covers up your ugly mug."

"My ugly mug!" He laughs and his fingers begin to pinch at her sides, tickling her and eliciting these loud peals of laughter from her throat. He presses her back to the floor of the tree house, hovering above her as he tickles her all over and she grabs at him as best she can but can never quite grasp him properly.

But when he's finished tickling her, laughter waning just with the daylight outside, he's still hovering over her, and within seconds of staring he's leaning down and kissing her. His lips are rough, but still so sweet.

There is a commotion below and Finn pulls away and just lies on his back beside her, breathing heavily. "It's getting dark."

"Yes, Finn, that is—"

"Don't sass me," he mutters, turning so he's facing her on his side. "I'm older, I'm the authority here."

It's been humid all week, but it's started to cool off in the evenings, and now that the sun's down the breeze that's been blowing all day blows cold on her bare shoulders, and she shivers just a little bit as she brings herself into a sitting position.

"Want my jacket?"

"You brought a jacket?"

"For _you_."

Her heart feels all full and sweet as he drapes the hoodie over her shoulders, and her cheek pinks when he presses a soft kiss against her cheek when he pulls away from her. She thinks this would be a perfect time to tell him she loves him, too, this clandestine woodsy night with just him and her and a third bottle of beer passed between them as they wait with their dangling feet tangled for the fireworks to start. He's cold, too, at least his mouth and his hand that's on her bare thigh is, so she cuddles as close as possible to him and kisses him and jumps away in surprise when the first _boom_ of the fireworks goes off.

The bright color reflects in his eyes as he stares at the sky, and he really _is_ so handsome, so cute, with his messy hair and freckles and she finds herself focused on _him_ rather than the fireworks display outside and when he glances down at her and catches her gaze, she thinks she sees a blush rise on his face. He's silent, though, and turns back to watching the sky, so she does too, meanwhile pressing her head against his arm.

* * *

Finn walks her home. A block from her house, though, he pulls her behind a row of bushes and kisses her hard. "What're you doing?"

"Kissing you goodnight," he responds and kisses her again.

When they finally amble up to her house, she doesn't expect _Kurt_ of all people to be outside next door, seemingly waiting for her. "Rachel? _Finn_?"

"Hi, Kurt!" She calls, pausing at her gate and hoping to convey _some_ sort of goodbye to Finn with her eyes.

"What're you two doing?" Kurt asks suspiciously, hopping off the porch and meeting them at the gate that divides their houses.

"Found this rascal walking home alone in the dark," Finn explains, rolling his eyes. "Had to make sure your best friend got home safely, if only for the next Judy Garland night."

"Thank you, Finn."

"Yeah, I guess, thanks," Kurt says and he's staring at Rachel and after a moment is satisfied. "I'm coming in with you, Rachel, I have _so_ many details about tonight that I'm just _dying_ to spill!"

* * *

At the end of July, Finn turns eighteen and they get caught kissing.

While Finn may have been spending much of his summer sneaking around with her, it doesn't mean he's completely put to rest his popular tendencies, so when Noah Puckerman decides to throw Finn a raging birthday party, Finn doesn't even hesitate to say _hell, yeah_. It doesn't bother her, of course, especially since Finn cordially invites Kurt (and all his friends).

Few things make Rachel nervous, and they are: Finn, thunderstorms, and the popular crowd. There is good nervous (Finn) and there is bad nervous (thunderstorms) and then there is the third nervousness, the anxiety that buries itself into the pit of her stomach. It keeps her up all night, mind burning with nightmares of humiliation. When she tells Finn, he ensures her no one'll mess with her, but his assurances do little to ease her mind.

Kurt, of course, isn't worried. Perhaps she is being a tad dramatic, but she's seen nearly every possible young adult movie that involves partying and she can only imagine the situation to go one way. And since there is no way she is missing the party, she decides she'd better start _living_ while she still can.

This is both her first _popular_ party and her first _party_ party. Tina and Mercedes have been to parties before, so they stick to her side, but Kurt runs off with Blaine, and she understands, really, the two of them are in a brand new relationship, and _seriously_ cute in their flirting, so she can't even be mad at her best friend for the neglect.

"Rachel, Finn is _staring_ at you," Mercedes whispers as they head into the kitchen. She's got her arms linked through theirs and twists awkwardly to where she knows Finn is sitting.

And he _is_ staring, eyes wide and glassy and his cheeks are flushed and she knows he's already drunk. She just lifts her hand, though, and wiggles her fingers.

"He's probably just surprised to see me," she explains.

"I don't think so," Tina negates, "I think he thinks you look _hot_."

She hopes it's dark enough in the living room that she can't see Rachel's cheeks pink. "Maybe. He's probably just surprised to see me in something like this."

_Something like this_ is a very short black dress that Kurt practically forced her into wearing with these glittery heels that she would never, _ever_ wear of her own volition.

"_Maybe_."

Half an hour later, Rachel is tipsy from pink lemonade flavored vodka and a shared beer with Tina and a really nice tasting drink a cheerleader makes for her. Well, Rachel _thinks_ she's a cheerleader.

But she's thirsty again so she lifts herself from the couch and wishes Finn were sitting with her and rubbing her back like he did on the Fourth of July as she drank her first beer with him, but she isn't _mad_, really, she just…she's starting to want more, to be open with her relationship and she puts it on the top of her list of things to talk to Finn about when she is sober.

When she tiptoes in the kitchen, she dumbly expects it to be empty but is alarmed audibly when she sees Santana Lopez leaning coolly against the counter, cigarette between her lips.

"Little Berry," she nods, and Rachel glances behind her, but is shocked to find that she's addressing _her_.

"Are—are you going to throw stones at me?" Her voice feels all thick and garbled but she manages to somehow spout that sentence off _somewhat_ clearly.

"Nah." She sucks in and blows out a puff of smoke. "Look, sugar, here's the down low: Karofsky transferred, which means any sort of shit storm you're expecting isn't coming. No way I'm spending _my_ senior year hating on underclassmen."

"Um."

"You wanna cigarette?"

"I'm gonna be on Broadway, so _no_."

"A drink, then."

Rachel is still wary, even as Santana pulls out a bottle of vodka from a cabinet and a liter of Diet Coke from the fridge, and her head's all fuzzy and swimming and she just wants to find Finn and kiss him a little and fall asleep with her head in the crook of his neck.

"This is your first party, isn't it, Shortcake?"

"How?"

Santana places the glass in front of Rachel, laughs a little when she nearly chokes on the first sip. "Well, _that_, and you don't look like you stepped out of an episode of _Toddlers and Tiaras_, you look seriously hot tonight."

"Um, thank you." She takes another sip, gets used to the bitter taste of the vodka inundated in Diet Coke.

"Santana—_Rachel_!" Finn exclaims, and she turns at the sound of his voice and she feels like her head might spin right off her shoulders and incinerate, or maybe like her heart is going to beat out of her chest and relocate to where it wants to be, with his.

"Hiya, Sasquatch."

"What're you doin' in here?"

"Talking to Baby Bop here. I'll leave you two alone."

Rachel watches over her shoulder as Santana saunters out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her and she's about to say something to Finn when he's picking her up and placing her on the counter, stands between her open legs and kisses her hard on the mouth.

If she were sober, she would break away, citing that anyone could walk in, but right now, she wants to kiss her boyfriend and maybe fall asleep like this, too, and she feels dizzy suddenly as his tongue brushes hers, but like, _good_ dizzy, not like she's gonna puke dizzy but dizzy like she's twirling and dancing and jumping and spinning.

She squeezes the collar of his shirt and kisses him again, mouth closed, and pulls away from him.

"Hi," she murmurs.

"Hi."

"Happy birthday."

"You look fuckin' _hot_, baby girl." She smiles, pleased, and presses her cheek against his.

"I wanna go kiss you and fall asleep here."

"'Kay, Rach." He surveys the area, finds it notoriously empty, and picks her up off the counter. "Arms neck legs waist."

"Huh?"

"Wrap."

She blinks before noticing that he's got his arms around her waist and her fingers are still curled around his collar and she's just sort of hanging against his body so she follows his instructions, wraps her legs around his waist and her arms round his neck and presses her cheek back to his.

Finn's kind of really drunk, but she thinks she is too and when he tosses her on the bed, she gasps. "Finn, _Finn_, I left my—my—"

But he's not having it and she figures he isn't really in the mood for a conversation so she lets the matter drop and pulls his mouth from her neck, where he's currently kissing, and kisses him on the mouth.

After a few minutes, she pulls away and lies beside him on the bed, and she figures all this kissing they've been doing is absolutely _perfect_ to help her expand her breathing range for the future when she is a Broadway superstar. Can you even be a superstar on Broadway? Well, _she_ surely will.

"Whose room are we in?"

"Guest," he explains, rolling on his side and facing her and reaches out to press his finger against the tip of her nose. "I get it cause it's my birthday."

"All night?"

"Mmhm." He rolls onto his back again and pulls her with him, so she's perched atop his chest as his hand runs over her hair.

She's just leaning in to kiss him when the door bursts open, flooding the room with yellow light and she jerks away from Finn, clumsily turns to squint at whoever interrupted them and it doesn't even cross her mind that she's still technically in a _very_ private relationship with Finn.

"_Rachel_?"

"Tina?"

"What're you—oh, my _god_, are you hooking up with _Finn_?" She turns, presumably to call someone to see her and Finn, but somehow Rachel's inebriation transfers to speed and grace as she leaps off the bed and pulls Tina further into the room, slamming the door behind her. "Rachel, I love you and you're like pretty and stuff but there's _no_ way I'm having a threesome with you and Kurt's brother."

"Shh!" She flicks the light on. "Tina don't tell _anyone_."

"Rachel, Mercedes would literally, like, _die_. Come on, I _never_ get the gossip first."

Finn's off the bed, now, standing behind Rachel and he grabs her hand, fingers slipping in hers with ease. "_Please_, Tina."

Tina crosses her arms over her chest, staring intently at Rachel, at Finn, at their fingers laced. "Are you, like, serious? Or just a hookup?"

"Serious," Finn blurts, squeezing her fingers. "Like, super serious."

"Okay, fine, then. I'll keep quiet for _now_, okay?"

"Thank you _so_ much," Rachel gushes and leaps forward to hug Tina but is a little more forceful than she expects and so she stumbles a little and Finn laughs maybe at Tina's surprised face which Rachel cannot see but she just hugs her friend and Finn scoops her into his arms when she leaves and cuddles her to his chest and she's really really really _happy_.

* * *

July ends with a bang in a heat wave so hot that the city pool is empty. No one wants to be outside, and her parents go on some sort of anniversary vacation, and with her extreme luck, her air conditioner breaks. _Breaks_. The humidity seeps into every room and even the _basement_ is boiling.

Luckily, Kurt comes to her aid and invites her to spend the week at his house, until her dads get home and can call the repairman. It is both a pleasant and unpleasant circumstance—Kurt's house is incredibly cold (so cold that at night she has to wear a sweatshirt) but she can't be with Finn, as Kurt demands all her attention, and when he's out with Blaine, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel are home and she doesn't feel comfortable sneaking around their house with Finn.

One night, they spend the night watching _Gossip Girl_ on Netflix and she falls asleep wearing her glasses, curled in a ball on the couch and she barely remembers falling asleep when she feels someone press a kiss against her forehead hours later, and she opens her eyes blearily to see Finn unfolding a blanket and draping it across her body.

"Finn?"

"Hi, baby," he whispers, crouching beside the couch. "You were shivering and you still had your glasses on."

"Thanks," she mumbles, eyelids sliding shut.

He kisses her again, her mouth this time, and if she weren't so groggy she'd kiss him back. He laughs a little and presses his hand against her cheek softly. "Love you, girl."

She hums and nuzzles into his hand, snuggling beneath the blanket. "Love you, too."

* * *

Kurt is gone when she wakes up, and Mr. and Mrs. Hummel are at work, and she rolls off the couch to find Finn sitting at the kitchen table, cup of coffee in front of him. Inconspicuously, she sneaks into the bathroom and brushes her teeth, and joins him in the kitchen.

"Morning, baby," she greets, and he glances up at her and blinks and smiles and pushes back from the table a little. It's an invitation to sit on his lap, she knows, and it's an invitation she'll take any day.

His arms are warm when they wrap around her waist and she presses a kiss against the apple of his cheek. "You were snoring," he teases.

"I was _not_!"

"Yeah, you were. But, like, cute, little snores."

"I have a deviated septum, I'll have you know." She grabs his mug and brings it to her lips, tastes the bitter, black coffee stinging her tongue and wrinkles her nose.

"Babe, you don't like black coffee, and that's all I drink, so I don't know why you keep doing that."

"For some reason I always expect it to be tea, or something I like."

He rolls his eyes. "Rachel, do you remember anything from last night?"

"I barely even remember falling asleep, Finn." But after a moment, she remembers. "Oh! You came and brought me a blanket. Thanks, baby."

Finn bites his lip. "You told me you loved me."

"I did?" He nods. "Well, I do."

"You do?"

"I do." She sighs and squeezes his shoulders. "I was just…scared."

"Scared."

"Mmhm."

"Of me?"

"Of _this_."

He kisses her. "Don't be."

"I'm not." A beat. He kisses her neck. "I love you."

"Love you, too, sunshine."

* * *

"Rachel, I had some real odd dreams last night," Kurt tells her, standing in front of his closet and pulling out random short sleeve button down shirts.

"What about?" She caps her mascara and reclines on his bed, waiting for him to pick out an outfit for her to critique. He has some big date with Blaine and she's going over Tina's for a little.

"Well, first, Blaine was wearing a dress and we were walking around a history museum, but then it melted into you and me and Blaine all at the Lima Bean and _Finn_, of all people, came in and kissed you and took your glasses off of you and told you he loved you, which is _so_ weird!"

"Um, wow, Kurt," she breathes, feeling her heart pound. "Real weird."

"Yeah. I think I'm just reacting to having my very first boyfriend and you're still single and I want you to have someone! So, this year will be my mission to finally hook you up with someone."

She bites her lip, thinks of his stepbrother next door and sighs. "Sounds great, Kurt. _Great_."

* * *

**tbc**


	3. III

**a/n**: you all seemed to really enjoy that last chapter! i hope you're all as responsive this time. also, the past two chapter titles/lyrics at the top were from joni mitchell's album 'blue', and in order to preserve future story lines from being spoiled, i had to alternately title this song from an equally lovely song called 'naked as we came' by iron and wine! glee isn't mine, nor are any songs mentioned, and as always, dedicated 2 my good fellow rachel!

* * *

III

_she says wake up, it's no use pretending_

_I'll keep stealing, breathing her_

Rachel stretches her leg against his, toe brushing the backside of his calf as his hands slip under her shirt. She breathes his name as his mouth presses against her collarbone, teeth pinching the skin for a brief moment before releasing.

"_Finn_," she repeats, pushing his head away from her chest, "I can't have a bunch of hickeys on my first day of school."

"Fuck," he groans, leaning his head back. "Forgot about that."

"Aren't you excited?" She nudges him in the side. "Your last year of high school."

"Fuck."

"_Language_." He rolls his eyes. "I mean, the rest of your life is spanning in front of you, Finn—aren't you excited to—"

He interrupts her, pressing his mouth on hers, and she considers the matter quite dropped.

* * *

The first day of her sophomore year dawns bright and yellow, August caught in the last warm tendrils from summer's filter. It's warm and sweet smelling outside and Finn honks the horn three times to signify he's in the driveway to pick her up. She kisses Daddy on the cheek, Papa on the head, and scurries outside.

Kurt is in the front seat, head bent against the window, and she has to cover up a laugh at his squished, pale cheek pressed against the glass. Finn smiles at her slightly, just a quirk of one cheek, and rolls his eyes.

"Good morning, boys!" She exclaims once she's in the backseat of the truck.

"Rachel," Finn greets without looking at her. Kurt mumbles something unintelligible. "Kurt's sleeping."

"Oh." She scoots across the backseat, glances at Kurt, and presses her mouth very quickly against the nape of his neck, a little sliver of skin between the red of his letterman jacket and the brown of his freshly cut hair.

They're at a red light when he finally turns around, smiles at her, brushes his thumb across her brow, where her heavy bangs now sit. "Pretty girl."

She blushes as she always does, and pulls back once the light turns green and the truck lurches forward. As Finn drives through Lima, she reflects on the last days of summer: Finn taking her to what's been deemed _their lake_, stolen kisses in the trees behind their houses, Kurt dragging her to the mall and salon just last night.

She will miss this summer, she decides. She'll miss stolen, sweet kisses with Finn and long nights lying prone on Kurt's bed, gushing over the latest text messages from Blaine.

"You okay, b—Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"You're just quiet, s'all."

"Oh." She glances at Kurt and scoots forward, curves her fingers around the shell of his ear. He groans softly, lurches to a stop and turns his head and kisses her hard, mindful of Kurt sleeping peacefully beside him. A car honks, she scoots backwards, and after a few sharp turns, they're at school.

She'll always love the first day of school, the excited tittering in the halls and overjoyed exclamations upon seeing old friends. Mercedes and Tina gush over their summers, meanwhile pressing their fingers happily on the thick edge of her bangs.

As they walk towards first period honors English, Tina brushes her fingers against Rachel's wrist, pulling her back as Mercedes walks with Kurt, barely even noting their absence.

"What's up, Tina?"

She crosses her arms and stares plaintively at her. "I thought you told me you were gonna tell Kurt about you and Finn before school started."

Rachel bites her lip. "I'm _sorry_, Tina, but—"

"I can't keep your secret for_ever_, Rachel. Or be your alibi." A hot blush spreads across Tina's cheeks. "Especially now that I'll be out with Mike."

"As in Mike _Chang_?" Mike's a junior, on the football team, and good friends with Finn. He was in the musical last year with Rachel and Kurt. Tina only nods. "What? When?"

"Well, you know we hooked up at Finn's party, and it just sort of escalated from there. We're going out this weekend." Tina's smile is blissful, and Rachel would continue pestering her, except the warning bell has rung.

* * *

She's walking with Mercedes from Chemistry to lunch when she sees Finn for the first time all day. It's grown unbearably warm in the school, so he's shucked his letterman jacket and is left in his plain grey tee shirt and jeans, and he's walking with Noah Puckerman and Sam Evans and Mike Chang and other underclassmen from the football team and he has the same period lunch as she does and gives her his familiar, sweet smile when he sees her, and _that_ is acknowledgement enough.

"What was_ that_?" Mercedes murmurs as they push through the doors to the cafeteria.

"What was what?"

"Rachel, Finn Hudson is _totally_ into you."

"Mercedes!" She swats her on the arm, hopefully being a little more convincing than she feels. It really would be so easy… "That is _not_ true."

"He just smiled at you like you hung the goddamn moon!"

She rolls her eyes and grabs an apple from the bowl of fruit in the lunch line. "That is _not_ true, and you know it, Mercedes. He's just friendly."

"No, no. He sure wasn't smiling at _me_ that way."

"Mercedes, he's two _years_ older. A senior."

"So?" Mercedes slams a can of Diet Coke onto Rachel's tray, and a second onto her own.

"So he'd _never_ go for a girl like me." She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth. "First of all, I'm not even sixteen yet. He's _eighteen_."

"Sure didn't seem to matter to him five minutes ago, or at that party he had where he was eyein' you up like you were a rack of ribs and he was a hungry wolf."

"Mer_cedes_!"

"C'mon, girl, I see Kurt over there." Mercedes leads them through the labyrinth of tables and students, and when they pass Finn's table he juts his elbow out ever so slightly so it presses against her thigh, and she feels her cheeks pink at the gesture.

Abruptly, though, she turns the corners of her mouth downwards so Mercedes will bury all her suspicion, focuses on a plain, beige spot on the wall that she hopes her cheeks will echo, and by the time they're sitting, Mercedes is already onto another subject.

It's a debate over who has the best summer tan, completely frivolous but one Rachel gladly dives into. It's easier to think of that than Finn's elbow pressed into her thigh, or the way his eyes feel like they linger on her even from across the cafeteria.

She's walking to her locker after lunch, alone, when a hand reaches out from a classroom and pulls her inside. She stumbles into a very familiar, broad chest, caught by his hands clasped round her waist.

"Hey," he murmurs, mouth pressed against the skin beneath her ear.

"Hi." Leaning onto her tiptoes, she pushes her mouth on his. She feels his mouth curve beneath hers and pulls away. "Finn, someone could walk in!"

"I know," he says lowly, squeezing his fingers into her hips. "Just…needed to do that."

"Okay."

"I'll see you later?"

"Call me." He kisses her cheek, this time, and she flounces away.

* * *

It's nearly eleven, which means she's nearly asleep, when he calls, and her voice is all raspy and sleepy when she answers.

"_Did I wake you up?_"

"Barely," she grunts, rolling onto her stomach beneath her blankets. Her mind feels all foggy with almost-sleep, and she finds her eyelids slipping shut again.

"_Baby_!" Finn's voice is warm, laughing just barely, and quiet.

"Sorry. Honestly, though, have you no respect for my school time schedules?"

"_No_."

She glares and hopes it transcends through the cell phone. "Well, then."

"_I'm kiddin', Rachel. I just wanted to check in, tell you I love you over the phone, 'kay?_"

Pressing the phone tighter against her ear makes her feel closer to him as she nuzzles into her pillows, imagines his body, long and lean, stretched out on the bed beside her, and she has to quell the butterflies that loom in her chest and her stomach, a spiral of butterflies and champagne bubbles that curves and twists all through her limbs.

"I love you."

She can't really hear a smile, but she thinks she feels his. "_Night, Rachel._"

"Goodnight, Finn. Sweet dreams." He hums in response, and she hangs up the phone.

* * *

Auditions for the fall musical, _The Music Man_ are held on the second Thursday of the school year. She has been preparing for this all summer. (And yes, make out sessions with Finn _count_ as expanding her breathing range.) All she is slightly worried about is an unsatisfactory leading man. Kurt, of course, has enough talent to perform it as a one-man show, but assuming the casting and directors will go for traditional rather than controversial, then, well. She isn't so sure she'll have a match for talent in her costar.

"Finn, you should try out for the musical," she pleads, pressing her palms flat against his skin under his tee shirt.

"No." He kisses her in little pecks all over her face, trying to distract her. When she refuses to give in, though, he leans his head back on the arm of the couch. "I'd totally get my ass kicked, babe. Plus, I'm not…not good like you."

"The field for Harold is _wide open_, Finn!" She squeezes his arm with her other hand, still running her hand up and down the soft skin of his stomach. "And you are _so_ good like me."

"Nah." His breath falls from his mouth in a heaving sigh. "Plus, I'm too busy, with football and the garage and _you_ and school and saving up for college…"

"I suppose so." She wants to ask him so badly about it, about college, the future, his future, her future, when and if they will intertwine, but instead she just puts her lips beneath her chin, a most welcoming spot.

Currently, she is sprawled over his chest, his hands firmly grasping her thighs while she runs her hand over his stomach, feels the broad plane of his chest cut into his abdomen, and she likes that he's sort of soft, there, and not _too_ hard, but just hard enough. She likes that she can feel muscles and feel _him_, the dichotomy of the jock and the sweetheart that makes up Finn.

The skin on his hands is rough, but his touch is gentle as he runs his hands up and down her thighs as they kiss, her tongue invading his mouth and vice versa. As always, Finn is hard against her thigh, touch growing more and more brazen as she kisses him harder, on the mouth and the neck and she even jerks back the collar of his tee shirt to plant a kiss against his clavicle. His stomach muscles clench at the feel, fingers freezing on her hips, squeezing a _little_, and she pulls away.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he responds, breathing heavily, cheeks red and hot. She presses her fingertips over his cheek, feels its warmth radiating from the hue and she wants to kiss it, wants to feel every one of his colors, paint them on her walls and save them forever.

"I can help, you know," she says, gesturing between his legs, feeling her cheeks color just like his. Perhaps she _can_ save every one of his colors by making them her own.

He closes his eyes, and she takes it as a yes and fiddles with the button of his jeans. "Whoa, Rach, wait."

"What? I thought—I thought boys liked…that."

"Yeah, we do," he says, sitting up straight on her bed. "But, Rachel, you're—you're fifteen. To you, a hand job is still a _that_. You're still so young."

His brow is furrowed, and she knows he's worrying about the age difference, but he really shouldn't be. "Finn, I'll be sixteen in three months."

"I know."

"There's a big difference between fifteen and almost sixteen."

He gives her this searching look. "I know. But I just—we can't have sex."

"Excuse me?"

"We can't have sex. It's, like, statue rape. Or something."

"Statutory, Finn." She sighs and leans on the headboard beside him, no longer kneeling over him. "And it's…it would be consensual."

"I know, but you're still, like, a kid."

"A _kid_?"

"You _know_ what I mean. You know I love you, Rachel, you know I'm—I'm in love with you. But you're fifteen. I'm eighteen."

When the numbers balance side by side they seem a lot further apart than she'd thought.

"It's not like I don't know what sex is, Finn." She rolls her eyes. "Not only have I read nearly _every_ Nicholas Sparks novel, I also had to take sexual education in middle school and have seen my fair share of R rated films. Plus, _True Blood_, you know…"

"I know all that. I do. And believe me, I want you. I want you _so_ bad. But every time we—we _almost_, this whole age difference thing pops up and ruins it. Just…just wait. A little longer. I promise, on your birthday, you can employ me as your sex slave. Promise."

"You're a psycho." But he's _her_ psycho. "Okay, Finn. Whatever starts your engine."

* * *

It doesn't make sense to her. Finn's reluctance, of course. She supposes it's one of those oddball boy idiosyncrasies she has to learn to live with.

Part of her understands. After all, there _is_ a sort of hidden difference between fifteen and sixteen. There's sweet sixteen, but no fabulous fifteen, and she is determined to make sixteen as sweet as possible.

* * *

On Wednesday, she's alone in the choir room preparing for her audition, first, practicing her scales and then a quick run through of her audition piece once (recorded, of course). After listening to the recording twice, she writes down the weakest spots, tries her best to fix them, sings the piece as a whole once more and listens to the final recording.

It's the easiest method, she thinks, of preparing for an audition while her vocal coach is busy mothering her four little children. Rachel understands, of course, but wishes she weren't sitting on her backburner at a time like this.

Regardless, Rachel is extremely confident in her abilities to gain the lead (or _any _part, really) in this musical all on her own accord.

She's halfway through her second time through _'Til There Was You_ when the door bursts open.

"Berry," Santana Lopez greets, ponytail taut, uniform spotless, familiar smirk pursing her lips. "Heard your squawking down the hall."

"Are you going to slushie me?"

"_No_." She sits beside Rachel at the piano, running her fingers over the ivory keys. "As much as it may _pain_ me to say it," she's smiling, though, and she knows Santana is teasing her, "you're fairly cool, and probably the best singer in this school."

"Why, thank you, Santana!" She's only ever been called _cool_ before by Finn, and he doesn't count.

"You're welcome. But listen, I'm looking to land a part in the musical, and I know I'm not fit for the lead—but I want a part. And I like singing. And you like singing."

"You want my _help_?"

"Yep."

"But I'm just a sophomore."

"And the best singer."

"Well, that is by no means true. There are _plenty_ of great singers in this school—"

"Look, can you help me or not?"

Rachel squints, plays a scale on the piano. She could always use more friends, especially when those friends run in the same circle as her _boyfriend_. "Certainly! Now, the audition is tomorrow, so it's a little last minute, but I myself feel quite aptly prepared for it, so I am willing to donate my time to you."

"Fantastic. What do we do first?"

"Sing a scale for me." She presses her finger against middle C.

"A _what_?"

"Do you know anything about singing?"

"No?"

"Oy vey!" She tucks her hair behind her ears. "Can you come over tonight? This is going to take more than the next thirty minutes of our free period."

"I mean—" Santana looks from Rachel to the piano keys to the stack of sheet music on the piano. "Yeah, s'fine."

"Perfect."

* * *

"You okay?" Finn presses his hand against her shoulder tentatively before pulling away quickly. They _are_ in the crowded hallway after school, and she's certain should he keep his hand there, pull her against him, they would cause quite the ruckus.

"Fine."

"Nervous?" He leans against the lockers beside hers, fooling with ends of the backpack straps.

"Quite."

"When's the list posted?"

"Three fifteen, Finn." She's told him about three hundred times. He gives her a slightly surprised look at her tone, and she sighs. "Sorry. I'm nervous."

"I know," he responds, and she slams her locker shut, leaning beside him against the lockers. "You're great, you know? Like, you knew what you were doing…and stuff. Plus, you got that callback during lunch."

"That means—" She pauses, reels herself in, and smiles sweetly at him. "You're right. I am fantastic."

He smiles and hums his agreement. "I should've auditioned, huh?"

"Why's that?"

He straightens, looks around him nervously. "Well…" Certain that no one of importance is listening, he bends so his mouth is closer to her ear. "I'd get to spend more time with _you_."

"Join stage crew! You're strong! In fact, get all your football henchmen to join."

"They're called _teammates_, Rachel."

"Whatever. Get them to join!"

He sighs. "We'll see. Stage crew's totally lame."

"It is _not_, plus, stage crew is considered part of the cast which means you are invited to cast parties."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes." She wants to kiss him, have him wrap his arms around her waist and pull her against his chest, but she just smiles at him. One quick glance at his watch tells her it is three _twelve_. "Finn, we must get to the auditorium!"

"Alright. Is Kurt gonna be there, or will we have to hunt around for him before I drive you two lazy asses home?"

"Yes, Finn, as Kurt also auditioned for the musical he will be eagerly awaiting the results, just like me."

"Oh. Okay."

They're quiet as they walk side by side to the auditorium, where a large crowd is gathered around the drama director's door. Finn presses his fingers against hers briefly, but it's enough to calm her in the slightest. She smiles at him gratefully, quite unused to the butterflies that wreak havoc on her stomach. She is used to always being confident and certain, and this—well, it sucks.

She slips in between the crowd, feels her stomach clench up with nerves until finally, she sees the cast list. _Marion Paroo…Rachel Berry_. She's _so_ relieved and she wants so badly to jump up and down but for once she keeps in mind the vulnerabilities of the students around her. So she slips through the crowd again and finds Finn on the outskirts of the fray and honestly, jumping into his arms is second nature to her at this point.

"I got it," she breathes against his ear and she wants to kiss him so badly, but she realizes that this is _not_ how she wants her relationship with Finn to be revealed. He twirls her before putting her back on the ground.

"I'm so, so proud of you," he tells her.

None of the other congratulations feel quite so special as his.

* * *

The following Monday, she finds herself at her locker, pulling out textbooks for her morning classes, unable to keep the smile from her mouth. What a superb weekend, filled with her dads fawning over her and congratulatory dinners and Finn's kisses!

If she's completely honest, she wants _more_ from her relationship with Finn. She's growing tired of secret kisses and dates, tired of concocting an alibi anytime she wants to have dinner with her boyfriend, and she's sick of not being able to hold his hand in the hall or hang a picture of him in her locker. She keeps meaning to _tell_ Finn, but is always distracted when they are together…for obvious reasons.

Anyway. Presently, she is pressing her notebooks into the fold of her elbow, humming a song Finn showed her last night on the phone. She doesn't remember much but the tune, the lyrics convoluted and lost in the sea of her subconscious. Her eyes sweep to the side of her locker, where a copy of her schedule is held up with a gold star magnet. She doesn't _really_ want to carry around three binders, and figures that she can manage a stop after her math class.

"Rachel Barbra Berry," an unfamiliar, smooth voice says, and she glances up in surprise at the body that's resting beside her locker. "Sebastian Smythe. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Sebastian—oh! You're my Harold."

He grabs her hand and brings her knuckles to his lips. "You're my Marion."

A giggle bubbles into her throat, and she feels her cheeks heat with blush. "Nice to meet you, Sebastian."

"You're much prettier than your Facebook lets off."

"Well, um." She isn't used to these smooth compliments, so accustomed to Finn's stuttered, sweet words of admiration. Sebastian is certainly charming. "Thank you, I suppose."

"You want to know what else I learned from a routine and thorough Facebook look-through?"

"What's that?" She glances over Sebastian's shoulder to see Finn leaning against the wall beside a water fountain, tossing a football to and from with one of his buddies on the football team. She wonders if he can see her, see Sebastian, wonders if it makes his stomach burn with anger and his eyes sting with jealousy like hers do when a girl flirts with him.

"You are also _single_."

"My Facebook does _not_ say that."

"No, no. To a naked eye, your relationship status is ambiguous. Yet, with a quick glance through the past month's wall posts, status updates, and profile picture changes, one can deduce, quite quickly, that you, my dear, are single. So, since you're single and I'm single, what do you say to grabbing dinner with me after rehearsal?"

"I truly appreciate the offer, Sebastian, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Excuse me?"

He presses a little too close to her. She slams the door of her locker shut and sweeps her eyes to where she knows Finn is standing, and when his gaze meets hers, it's shadowed by a hard brow. She opens her mouth to say something, but finds that no words can come out and she merely nods.

"I—I wouldn't want any of the trials that accompany a romantic relationship to hinder our performance." Finn's eyes are narrowed, squinting across the hall. "So thank you, but I'll have to decline."

"You don't know what you're missing," he says lowly, and finally pushes away from her. She leans on the locker, relieved and shakes her head at Finn's quirked brow. She's fine.

* * *

Sebastian is totally weird, and extremely annoying. Persistent, to say the least. Finn isn't really bothered, thankfully. As long as Sebastian doesn't seriously threaten her, he doesn't quite care.

"You're mine, after all," he says softly, lips brushing her ear. She sighs and adjusts so his thigh falls between hers. The skirt of her dress slides up slightly and Finn's breath hitches and his fingers press hotly against the newly exposed skin.

"Finn," she whines, shifting and wiggling in her lap. It's like all of a sudden a ball of hot wire has tangled in her belly and she just wants some _relief_. Finn's breath pushes from his mouth, warm on her ear, and she kisses him hard, grabs his hand and places it on the very inside of her thighs.

"Rachel," he groans, pulling his hands off of her. "Please."

"Okay, okay, okay." She nuzzles her cheek against his chest, tucking herself under his chin. "We can just cuddle, for tonight."

Her dads aren't home, and it's Friday, and Kurt thinks she's home alone and that Finn is out with friends, and it's perfect.

His mouth is soft on her cheek. "You mean you're done seducing me for the night?"

She curls her fingers around his wrist. "Yes, Finn, I suppose I am."

"This is way better than getting dinner with Sebastian Smarmy, right?"

"Um." She blinks. "Smythe, Finn, be kind. And a million times over, yes, even if it has to be a secret."

Her words hang in the air for a minute that stretches into an hour. "I knew we'd get here eventually," he sighs, pressing his fingers against his temple. She's still caught in the circle of his embrace, still pressed against his heart.

"Are you…ashamed?"

"Of what? Of _you_?"

"Yes. Because you're popular."

"You're popular, too."

"No, Finn," she shakes her head and slips out of his arms, choosing instead to keep a clear head and sit at the end of her bed, knees drawn to her chest. "Not like you are."

"People like you."

"You're revered. Finn, come on. Don't pretend I'm some jejune little princess—"

"Baby, it's _September_, not June. And what does that have to do with anything?"

"Not June, Finn. _Je_june. As in naïve. Immature. Sophomoric." She presses her chin against the edge of her knee.

"Well, you _are_ a sophomore." He taps his fingers against his lips. "You're, like, the maturest person I know. Is that a word?"

She shakes her head, and he taps her with his sock-clad toe.

"See? You're two years younger than me and like, _way_ smarter."

"I suppose that is true."

"Yeah, it is. I'm not ashamed of you." He leans forward and draws her close again. "I love you."

It doesn't offer the same reassurances as it usually does. Nonetheless, "I love you, too."

"I don't want Kurt, or like, Santana, to barge in on this and…and ruin it. Okay?"

She sighs, traces a line from his earlobe to his chin, back and forth, feels his jaw clench and unclench and after a moment, she sighs. "Yes. Okay."

He kisses her softly. "Good."

"But, Finn?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Just know that I'm…I'm getting very tired of this secret thing. I don't like it, and soon, it's going to be a choice between public or nothing, and I hope you're ready to make the right choice."

He's silent for a moment. "I hope I am, too."

* * *

It's starting to hurt, this whole secrecy thing. He can say he isn't ashamed a thousand, a million times, but words are just things scraped together to tie the ribbon on a pushed aside issue that will eventually unravel.

He doesn't _want_ her, and she wants him _so_ badly, all the time, in every and any capacity, and she knew eventually he'd break her heart.

And so she's sad, doing her best to perk up around Finn, and he's busy with picking out colleges and winning football games to notice her lackluster mood, and it's not like they get much time to be together anyways.

Kurt and Blaine are fighting more than usual, so she's busy being Kurt's best friend when Finn wants her to be his girlfriend, and she absolutely _hates_ being stretched between these boys, but Kurt really, truly needs her. Finn doesn't even _want_ her, really.

"Why are _you_ so sad?" Kurt inquires haughtily as she runs her comb through his hair. He's actually letting her style his hair for once, and that is how she knows how sad he is. Well, that, and he keeps telling her so.

"I just am."

"Okay. Well, listen. That Sebastian kid keeps pestering me at rehearsal about you, and I told him you'd go on a date with him. Tomorrow. So."

"Kurt!"

"What? It's not like you're in a relationship!" His words are challenging. If not for her and Finn's a plus secrecy, she would suspect that Kurt knew something. But he doesn't. She and Finn are really good at hiding their feelings.

Or, rather, _she_ is really good at hiding _her_ feelings.

Whatever.

"You can't just set me up on a date with my pushy costar!"

"Yes, I can! Rachel, he might be good for you. You haven't been on a date since _last May_."

"Kurt, it's barely October."

"Whatever. Too long for a hot, single girl like you." Kurt glances in the mirror and raises his eyebrows. "You did an all right job on my hair. Let's find something for you to wear tomorrow."

He begins perusing her closet immediately, and she feels like every one of her nerve endings is on a live wire as he pulls out each item and shakes his head at it. She's abruptly worried that he'll find the sweatshirt she stole from Finn that she keeps in the very corner of her closet, which she wears only when she misses him most.

A lot, lately. And she isn't so sure why she misses him. They still see each other, in the mornings and afternoons, in the halls between classes. He still calls her every night, voice warm and full and rich, but it's starting to feel so hollow, so fake. It's like the gild of her relationship has been stripped and she's left with this dull, contorted lump of metal posing as gold, and she wants it to shine again.

She doesn't think he notices, so they don't talk about it.

And she agrees to go on a date with Sebastian, who is, surprisingly, very respectful of her boundaries and barely even touches her during their date, and she has an enjoyable time with him, she does, he just doesn't make her heart thrum, her stomach flutter. Sebastian's smile is so handsome but it doesn't make her want to press her mouth against the crevices it creates. His smile isn't the key to her smile.

"I had a lovely evening, Sebastian," she tells him, standing on her front porch. He's been quite the gentleman and is rounding off the evening with walking her to the door.

"I did, as well," he agrees. His brow and jaw set, and he seems determined as he leans down and presses his mouth right against hers.

She's a little surprised. It feels a lot like kissing her brother, to be honest. "Sebastian," she murmurs, pushing him away. "We don't have much chemistry."

"This could be a problem for the show."

"I doubt it. We're phenomenal actors, after all."

"Very true." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry about kissing you like that. I just—" He frowns. "I think I might be gay."

"Gay?"

"Yeah."

"And kissing me has shown you that?"

"Yes." Her brow creases. Is she _that_ awful? "Oh, Rachel, not like that. I just…you're really, really beautiful. And I figured with a girl that looks like you, anyone would feel that deep, sexual attraction, but—I guess I just…"

"It's not me, it's you?"

"Basically. That's so lame."

"It is," she agrees, but sighs. "I understand. It felt wrong to me, as well." And that, of course, may partially be due to her _boyfriend_ that lives in the house next door.

Anyways. "Yeah, well. I'm sorry for…fucking with you, I guess. I had good intentions."

"I believe you." She sighs. "And, if you need anything…"

He smiles. "I'll come find you."

* * *

At two in the morning that very night, she's awoken to a hand on her shoulder. "Finn? How'd you get in here?"

"Key under the welcome mat." His expression is hard, angry, even. "So, what'd _you_ do tonight?"

"Went out with a friend."

"Huh. Because _Kurt_ told me you were on a date."

"And?"

"Rachel, I'm sorry, but I thought we agreed to be exclusive."

"We are."

"That means you don't date other boys."

"I'm not dating Sebastian. He's gay, and needed my…help."

"Oh." He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and she's curled in his direction, still groggy from her interrupted sleep. "Sorry for bein' so conclusive, or whatever."

"It's okay. Is that all?" She yawns and snuggles into her bed, letting her eyes close. It hurts to look at him, these days.

Very tenderly, he brushes his fingers over her forehead, pushing her bangs aside. He leans down and kisses the skin there, and when he pulls away, murmurs, "Where have you been, baby girl?"

She pretends to be asleep.

* * *

Finn comes over the next afternoon while Papa and Daddy are at Temple. She's pretending to be sick, but Finn comes in anyways.

"Hey, babe," he greets, leaning down and pressing a hard kiss against the crown of her head. He looks so—_hot_ today, of course, when they're alone in her house with no supervision (as they always are). Except, you know, Finn has them both locked in some sort of chastity belt. "Did you know that Kurt set me up on a date tonight?"

"What?"

"Yep." He sits beside her on the couch, pulls her blanket over both of their laps. "Coincidentally, the night after he set _you_ up on a date. He also left _this_ article, amongst others, on my bed."

He puts a stapled pack of papers in her lap. The header on the first page is titled "8 tips for dating younger women", and the next article is very similar.

"Oh, no," she breathes, letting the paper fall to her lap. She meets Finn's eyes, and states the obvious, "Kurt knows."

* * *

**tbc**


	4. IV

**a/n**: yikes, sorry for the delay! this chapter didn't quite go where i'd envisioned, but enjoy it all the same. thanks, as always, for the reviews, and of course, the rights to glee do not belong to me. dedicated to rachel!

* * *

IV

_there are those who think I'm strange, they would box me up and tell me to change  
__but you hold me close and softly say that you wouldn't have my any other way_

They have a bit of a blowout after the revelation, and as of right now she is _not_ talking to him. Well, he's not talking to her. So she's not talking to him. He _did_ call her a clingy little girl, after all.

She might have called him barbaric, amongst other things. Unimportant, really. For now, they are at a stalemate, and she will _not_ break first.

He's leaning against the wall of the auditorium when she comes out of play practice. Today, it's just her and Sebastian working in the auditorium, with the rest of the cast working in the dance room. She's laughing at whatever Sebastian is saying, and halts when she sees Finn, swinging the ring of his keys around his index finger.

"I'll see you later, Sebastian," she finds herself saying, and he pats her arm as he walks away, and she stands in front of Finn. He doesn't look at her. "Hi, Finn."

He shuffles one foot over the other and finally meets her eyes. "Hey."

She isn't quite sure what to do. Surely she's read an article in _Seventeen_ about this _somewhere_! What, precisely, is the protocol on fighting with boyfriends who show up after your musical rehearsals presumably to pick you up and take you home?

Instead of doing what she wants (kissing him, hugging him), she blurts out, "I'm walking home."

One of his eyebrows quirks, and she'd very much like to smooth it out with the pad of her thumb. "In the rain?"

She glances out of the auditorium doors, sees the rain falling in sheets and sighs. "Are we taking Kurt?"

His lips purse at his brother's name, and he shakes his head. "Nope. He's got a ride, or something."

"So it's just you and me?"

"Yup."

She's not used to him being so curt with her, and when they step outside he doesn't even offer her his _jacket_, and he knows she's getting soaked, and her backpack, too, and when they get to the truck it's still _locked _and she has to wait in the pouring rain for him to unlock it twice before she can climb in.

For October, it's certainly very cold, especially with her soaked clothes sticking to her skin. She glares at him as he shoves the key in the ignition and turns the heat on all the way.

"I know you're punishing me for—for letting Sebastian kiss me."

"Rachel, you went on a _date_ with him, whether or not he turned out gay in the end!"

"I know, and I'm _sorry_!" She's sort of shrieking, so she takes a moment and calms herself down. "I'm so sorry. You—you believe me, right?"

"Yeah. Just—why?"

"You were hurting me. Kurt was pressuring me about dating, and I've been trying so hard to keep this ruse up for you that I just agreed." She scoots closer to him, her wet knee brushing the edge of his thigh. "I thought of you that whole night."

"I'm—I'm hurting you?"

Honesty is_ always_ the best policy, as Daddy says! "Yes." A deep breath, and, "you don't want me."

"Rach, of _course_ I want you. Can't you—" a hot blush spreads across his cheeks, "can't you, y'know…_feel_ it?"

"That's _that_," she responds, cheeks just as bright as his as she gestures to his crotch. He laughs good-naturedly, though. "I'm talking about…"

"All of me wants you." Instead of answering, she can only shiver. He presses his hand against the wet sleeve of her sweater. "Let me drive you home. Your dads there?"

They're silent the rest of the drive home, and when they approach their houses, Finn parks his truck in her driveway and follows her inside. Usually, he parks in his own driveway and hops the fence between their houses when he comes over, but today, he leaves his car in her drive.

"Stay here while I—while I change. Okay?"

He nods and flops onto the couch. It's still storming outside, though now the sky has darkened as thunder rolls in the distance.

When she's in her bedroom, stripped but for a fresh pair of undergarments, she grips the edge of her vanity and stares at herself. She's not _too_ awful looking, really. She dresses with resolve, pulls a comb through her matted hair, and joins Finn on the couch. He's just sitting there, hands spread open in his lap, and when she sits beside him he glances at her and he smiles.

"I never—" He breaks off, frustrated. "I didn't, like...it wasn't—it wasn't my intention...I didn't mean to make you feel unwanted. 'Cause you really really really are."

She blinks. Really, it shouldn't surprise her how well he knows her, after all this time. "I'm sorry."

His hand brushes over her hair. "I know. I am, too. You should've—told me, or something. That you were...unhappy, or whatever. Are unhappy. Like, I noticed but—" He breaks off. "Just tell me, next time. So we don't get into another fight."

"Okay."

He cups her face in his hand, smoothes his thumb over her lip. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"But?"

"We need to come out. Tell our parents, friends—Kurt."

He kisses her shortly, and she thinks that if there weren't more pressing needs on the line she would wrap her arms around his shoulders and climb into his lap, but instead she pulls away and cocks her eyebrow. His smile is slow, but relieving. "Yeah, we'll tell them this week."

* * *

They never really get around to _telling_ anyone, exactly. Papa and Daddy come home to find Finn's truck still in the drive, the two of them sitting on the couch watching _Gilmore Girls_ with their hands laced and Papa invites him over for dinner, and that's that.

Later, of course, once she's kissed Finn goodbye and sent him on his way, Papa and Daddy sit beside her on the sofa and mute the news.

"Rachel, that boy is eighteen," Daddy warns.

"I know."

"We just want you to be safe, honey," Papa adds, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and squeezing. "How well do you even know him?"

"Finn and I have been together since June," she blurts out suddenly. Papa gasps, Daddy narrows his eyes.

"Oh, really?"

She feels a _little_ like Ariel, which is actually very exciting. "Daddy, I _love_ him." Papa's brows lift. "I do, really. Swear it."

"Swear on Barbra," Daddy breathes quickly with his eyes closed.

"I swear on Barbra."

"Egads, Hiram, she _really_ loves him!" Papa clutches his heart. "Our baby, in love. Wasn't it just yesterday that she was our little pea pod?"

He stands from the couch and begins thumbing through their CD collection. "Papa, don't you _dare_ put in _Fiddler on the Roof_!"

"Rachel, you really _are_ no fun."

* * *

She touches his arm in the hallway. He's got his head stuck in his locker, books tucked in the crook of his elbow, and she just—just wraps her fingers around his wrist. He jerks his head out of his locker and smiles at her, and he doesn't move her fingers.

"Hey," he says, and she wonders if there'll ever be a time when he _doesn't_ make her heart beat like this. Like it's dancing and singing and it aches to be closer to his.

"Hi," she responds, and if she were a little more daring she would kiss him right on the mouth. But for now, her hand on his arm is enough. "So, I don't have to go to play practice tonight."

"You don't?" He doesn't even glance around before he's putting his hands on her waist. "Want a ride home? Kurt's here 'till six."

Finn sings with her in the car. Usually, he just taps his fingers on the steering wheel and smiles at her as she belts out the latest pop song, but today, he's got his own mixed CD in the stereo and she knows this song and sings along and he sings, too, and when the song dwindles to a close, she turns down the volume.

"Our harmonies are actual perfection."

"No. I'm not a singer."

"If you would have tried out for the musical, you would have made it. We could be on _and_ off stage lovers! Finn!"

He grabs the hand that's flailing and intertwines their fingers. "Whoa, Rach. Take a breath, slow down a little, and please never use that word again."

"What word?" She can feel her sly, foxy smile tugging at her lips, and she's a little distracted by the word foxy. Is it okay to describe herself as that? Finn would say yes, only because he supports her in all her endeavors. Well, anyway. She's feeling sly and fox like so foxy must be applicable in this moment. "Is it—is it _musical_?"

"You're a nuisance."

"So are you. Tell me the word; I'll be sure to write it out of my vocabulary." He narrows his eyes. "No, I promise, _lover_."

He grits his teeth. "We're in a fight. I'm mad at you."

"Are you gonna cry about it?"

"Probably."

They're at his house, now, and he takes her hand walking inside. "Is your mom home?"

"Nope."

In the kitchen, he leans against the counter and pulls her close and kisses her on the mouth. He runs his hands up her back, and they've never kissed like this, here, with her bottom lip between his, stretched onto her tiptoes. She decides she likes it.

"I'm glad your practice was cancelled," he says when he pulls away, and her mouth feels all tingly, legs wobbly at the feeling of his breath so close to hers.

"Me too," she yawns, and he takes her hand again, and they climb the stairs. The musical really _is_ so demanding, with practices that end at seven in the evening, added with seven classes worth of homework and studying and talking to Finn for at _least_ ten minutes and she's just—she's very sleep deprived. And stressed out.

She and Finn study side by side on his bed, which is surprisingly successful as a study method. He's got his history notes spread across his lap, and she's trudging through _Emma_, for her literature class. She enjoys Jane Austen, really, absolutely adores _Pride and Prejudice_ and longs for it to be adapted to the stage. She would really be a wonderful Lizzie Bennet. But _Emma_ is much different and drags, and she enjoys it, honestly, she does, but soon enough all the words blur together and she falls asleep, head balanced against Finn's shoulder.

She isn't sure what wakes her up. It could be the shifting of the body pressed snugly against hers, or the waning sunlight that filters through his curtains that seems to shine directly onto her face. Groaning, she turns her head, rolls in the circle of Finn's arms so she's facing him, but she finds that even with her face pressed against his sweater, she's unable to fall back asleep. Instead, she sits up as best as she can, leans against the headboard, thoroughly disoriented. For a split second, she thinks the six o'clock that blares on his alarm clock reads _am_ instead of _pm_.

Rachel believes in a lot of things, but for the power of naps. Always waking with a headache and more tired than when she'd fallen asleep, she had written them off as appropriate methods of sustaining a pleasant, wakeful existence. Now, she has realized the inherent wrongness in her hypothesis. Or perhaps it's just Finn that's changed her perspective. His head lolls slightly to the side, balanced halfway onto her thigh and his chest rumbles very slightly with little snores and she wonders how he's comfortable like this. Somewhat subconsciously, her fingers run over his head, through his hair, her thumb running along the contours of his face.

After a moment, he stirs and blinks sleepily. "Hi, pretty girl," he mumbles, peering at her through sleepy eyes that make her heart do funny, leaping things.

She bends—_very_ uncomfortably—to kiss him on the cheek. He winds up tugging her back into his arms and slips his leg in between hers and he kisses her, and she feels so warm, all pressed up against Finn, his body against her body.

They're kissing, still, moments later, and Finn pulls away both to catch his breath and also to litter kisses all along the column of her throat. She groans and squeezes his neck as softly as she can to keep him close, and she's so caught up that not even her near-superhuman hearing can catch the sound of footsteps pounding up stairs or the slam of a door or the greeting call that echoes in the dining room. Instead, she's caught up with the way Finn's thigh feels pressed on hers. He's got one of the buttons of her blouse undone and this is the first time he's ever kissed her there, so close to her breasts that she's caught very off guard when the door to Finn's bedroom bursts open.

"_Finn Hudson_! Stop molesting my best friend _this instant_!"

She freezes, feels Finn's mouth form a curse word against her skin, but he's smiling when he lifts his head. "Hey, Kurt. How was rehearsal?"

Rachel hides behind Finn as she buttons her blouse, but she can still feel Kurt's eyes _boring_ into her, and once she's adjusted, she peeks at him, still behind Finn. "Hi, Kurt."

"Don't you _hi, Kurt_ me, Rachel Barbra Berry." Kurt looks fairly livid, but she supposes it could be an act, since he already knows.

"Don't act like this is a surprise, Kurt," Finn snaps, rolling out of the bed. He holds his hand out to help her off the bed. "You already knew. So relax."

"Finn, can't you find your _own_ girlfriends and not steal away my friends?"

"Dude, chill."

"Finn," Rachel murmurs, pressing her hand against his chest, warning him. "We didn't mean to hurt you, Kurt, really."

"Yeah," Finn agrees gruffly, "but, like, you shouldn't even be mad anyway. S'not like you own her."

Kurt locks himself in his room. She feels absolutely _sick_ with guilt, so she leans against his door and refuses to move until Carole is calling everyone down for dinner. Finn's sitting across from her, studying, and the soles of his feet press and tap against hers.

The door swings open, and she luckily steadies herself before falling and cracking her head open. What a disaster _that_ would be!

"I am only talking to you now to let you know that I am not talking to _either_ of you."

"Kurt!" But already he's stomping down the hallway.

"He'll cool down in, like, a day, babe." She can feel her lower lip trembling, and it feels like the entire world is collapsing around her. Finn wraps her in a hug, kissing the edge of her jaw. "Don't worry. He loves you."

"We've never—he's never looked at me like that." She squeezes Finn's shoulders. "I don't think he's ever been this mad at me before."

* * *

When Finn picks her up for school the next morning, Kurt's sitting in the back. He's got his headphones in and doesn't even glance up at her cheery greeting. She looks at Finn, helpless, and he just leans over and kisses her.

Later, she about stalks Kurt to get him to talk to her, and eventually corners him before seventh period. "Kurt, you'll have to talk to me eventually."

"No, I won't," he responds coolly.

She manages to grab onto his bicep. "I don't know why you're so mad. Just _talk_ to me."

"Tell me how _you _would feel if you found out your best friend was sneaking around, lying to you, and even _avoiding_ you so she could spend time with your step-brother, who _also_ is sneaking around, lying, and avoiding you? You could've been honest with me."

"I don't—Kurt, I'm sorry. We—_I_ never meant to hurt you." His face softens. "Finn didn't, either."

"Rachel, you're like my sister. Finn's my brother. I barely get enough time with you as it is, and he's _leaving_ next fall, for wherever." He pulls his arm out of her hand. "I'm not going to hate you forever, but I'm so mad at you, Rachel."

"Kurt, please."

"I'll see you at rehearsal."

* * *

Finn kisses her when she greets him at his locker after school. Really, it takes her by surprise. She gasps a little, and it's just a little kiss, but it makes her smile.

Also, a repercussion: "What'd you do, Hudson, find a date from the preschool?"

"Fuck off, Puckerman," Finn says, discreetly flipping him off. She does her best, most formidable glare, and he lifts his hands and backs away. Once he's gone, Finn kisses her again, and she decides that she rather likes this. "How was your day?"

She sighs. "Fine, I suppose. I have a lab report to complete in chemistry, and an English test next week." He wraps his arm around her shoulder and together they head to the auditorium. "Kurt finally talked to me."

"Really?" His brows perk. "What—what'd he say?"

"We _hurt_ him, Finn. He's so mad."

"S'fine. We knew this was coming, didn't we?"

She sighs, and they're outside the auditorium now. "We did, I just…I didn't expect to hurt, too." He kisses her one last time.

"Baby, don't worry about Kurt. He'll get over it soon enough, okay?" She nods. "I'm working tonight, so call me before you go to bed."

"Okay. Talk to you later!"

* * *

"Is it true?"

"Is _what_ true—ow! Mercedes, you just stuck a pin into my side," she whines.

"If you weren't so squirmy, there wouldn't be this problem. Tell me, is it true?"

Rachel shuts her eyes, lets out this little breath. "Yes."

"So you're pregnant with Finn Hudson's kid?"

"What? No! We're just dating, Mercedes, besides he won't have sex with me." Her head pops up just as Rachel realizes her mistake. "Oops! Don't tell _anyone_ I said that. Finn would be so embarrassed."

There's no one in the costume room who would care, anyways, just the head of the costuming team who is busily sewing together a piece for one of the ensemble members. "Tell me all the details."

"You mean you aren't mad?"

"I mean, I'm a _little_ ticked off you told Tina and not me, but whatever. Besides, I knew this was coming."

"You _are_ very perceptive."

"Details, girl. Or else I'll stick you again." She holds up a pin and makes a jabbing motion.

"Fine, fine. Yes, Finn Hudson _is_ my boyfriend. We've been dating since the end of May."

"_May_?"

"Yes."

"Well, fuck. You kept that secret under wraps real well!"

"Though I don't appreciate your careless use of the f-word, thank you, Mercedes."

"I mean, until Hudson's party. Then it was really obvious. If you have two eyeballs and two ears, of course."

"Kurt is _so_ mad at me."

"She's silent for a few moments, finishes the last of her pins, doesn't assess the Kurt situation. "I think you're good."

But she _has_ to talk about it, "I hope he gets over it soon. It's weird not talking to him."

"Yeah." Mercedes doesn't really meet her eyes. "He'll be fine, don't worry your pretty little head."

* * *

Being at Kurt's house without spending time with him is _quite_ bizarre. Kissing Finn in open air is weird, too. But it's—it's _good_ weird. He holds her hand in the halls, kisses her in the morning and afternoon, cuddles with her during their Thursday night shows. It doesn't hurt so much, him postponing sex, now that he's so willing to be in the open, and she hates that she spent so much time hating herself—hating _him_—when she could have just told him how she felt and it'd have been done with.

Regardless, Rachel Berry does not waste her time on fruitless emotions, so she ensures that any guilt she feels regarding this whole Finn-Kurt-Rachel drama into the back of her mind.

She can't really sleep anymore. On a typical night, she gets home from rehearsal at six, has dinner with her dads, does her first homework assignment, practices her scales and sings a song with Papa, finishes her homework, begins her nightly routine, calls Finn, and falls asleep promptly at eleven. It's a busy schedule, but it's working.

Until, of course, she finds the clock ticking further and further away from her preferred bedtime as she rolls around in bed. Sometimes, she sends Finn a text message, since he's always up at ungodly hours of the night due to his senioritis, but usually, she lets her thoughts take over, and she _worries_.

Daddy tells her to take it easy and take a mental health day when she falls asleep at the kitchen table one morning. It's a Thursday; she has no rehearsal and no scheduled tests or quizzes that may need making up, so she texts Finn not to pick her up and falls back asleep in bed.

She dreams about Kurt leading her onto a scaffold and joining a pit of his clones below, all calling out awful words to her, and as her dreams often do, it flows into another, a happier one, of Finn and singing and a mug of hot coffee on a cold morning. When she wakes up, she's smiling.

Finn skips his last class and comes over in the afternoon. She's not really surprised, but she _is_ glad to see him, and he kisses her the moment she opens the door. They're quiet as she tugs him by hand to the couch and she gets lost in his kisses, in the gentle strength in his hands as they trail up and down her spine. They slip beneath the fabric of her shirt, warm against her cold skin and she curves her body closer to his, pushing her tongue into his mouth. She's not really thinking of anything at all but the steady inhalation of breath as they part—and maybe that's the point, since Finn is somehow pushing her shirt up her stomach and over her shoulders.

It's the first time she's been in just a bra in front of him, but he's seen her in a bathing suit and she figures it's about the same. From the widened shape of his eyes, though, it feels like it's the first time he's seen the dip between her breasts or their swell in her bra, and her skin feels red hot even as he kisses the apple of her cheek and eases his mouth to her ears, where he murmurs against the skin that she's so beautiful.

She feels it, even despite the modest white of her bra. Finn's breath is heavy, pushed out against the curve of her cheek as he pulls away from mouthing beneath her ear. He meets her gaze cautiously, her fingernails grazing over his back, and his silent question is answered in the soft groan she releases as his hand very gently closes over her breast. She kisses him, tries to press her body as close to him as possible. He's _so_ hard against her thigh, and she can't believe they've gotten his far, his hands on her breasts, her hand running down his chest to run her thumb along the inside waistband of his jeans.

"_Rachel_," he groans. She slips her thumb down to trace over the etchings in the button on his jeans.

"Can I?" He sighs and nods and her entire body feels red-hot. He eases her skirt off her hips and clumsily unhooks her bra, and it takes her three tries to completely get his tee shirt off his torso, and for the first time, she's completely naked in front of someone else—in front of Finn. And finally, she feels thoroughly _wanted_ by him.

Despite the nerves that set her skin alight, it's easy from there. Natural. He touches her as she touches him, and he lets out these quiet moans that make her feel so, so sexy and after a few seconds, he stills and comes, eyes closed with his cheek pressed against hers. He's still got his fingers between her legs, and when he opens his eyes again he's staring at her like she hung the moon, and within moments she feels a coil curl up in the pit of her stomach that unravels as she calls his name.

Afterwards, he cuddles her against his chest for just a second before they rise, clean themselves up, and get dressed. She's hungry, so she locks her hand with his and pulls him into the kitchen.

"I really missed you today," he says as she cuts an apple. He's sitting at the kitchen table, his face in his hands. She hums slightly and pops one of the pieces of apple into her mouth. She really _does_ love fall, with its timely introduction of cold air and the appropriate use for cardigans and sweaters. And apples, too.

She turns and smiles at him before grabbing cinnamon out of the spice cabinet, but she doesn't answer him.

After a moment of his expectant gaze boring into her back, she answers, "I missed you, too."

"No, you didn't. You were busy sleeping." She wrinkles her nose and sits on his lap, pops a bit of the apple into his mouth, and he kisses her finger as she pulls it away from his face.

"Truce?"

He bites his lip and sneaks his hand under her shirt, brushes the tip of her bra. "Consider this my white flag."

* * *

Kurt still refuses to talk to her beyond the necessary, droll conversation. It makes her sad, because she desperately misses her best friend, and it's all her fault that she's missing him. If she'd only gotten the courage to just _tell_ him when this whole mess started, they wouldn't be here.

But other than missing her best friend, things are going splendidly. Her role in the musical is as fulfilling as ever, her schoolwork is as on par as always, and Finn is, of course, perfect. Now that they're out in the open about things, they spend much more time together, though it's mostly spent at her house, because of the Kurt situation. It shouldn't surprise her, really, that her streak of luck comes to a screeching halt.

Or rather less of a screeching halt and more of a deceleration to a sudden stop. Like a yellow light turning red just before you pass by, things fall apart little by little. Kurt won't talk to her, and thereby, Mercedes will not talk to her, either. And there's _two_ friends gone, and Tina is always with Mike (not that she can blame her), so really, she only has Finn to talk to these days. Sometimes, Santana will find time to talk to her, but she's busy cheerleading and applying for school and preparing for the musical, so she's too busy, too, and not many of the other members of the drama club like her all that much to begin with.

Papa and Daddy start to fight. In the fifteen minutes between her cheery _goodnight, I love you_ and her actually falling asleep, they manage to find things to fight about. It starts with little things, like cutlery and chores and curtain choices, and suddenly, it's like everything is falling to pieces around her. Papa and Daddy are—they're her foundation. And with all her friends busy, she only has Finn to talk to, who, bless his heart, isn't very good at rationalizations.

Rachel Berry does _not_ stress out. She worries, grows concerned, but she has never in her life felt stressed, or panicked, but one afternoon she has a very minor panic attack while studying her French notecards in Finn's bedroom. At first, she just supposes it's a little warm in the room and that's why she can't breathe—the sun has been shining nonstop, after all—but her eyes go all hazy and her breath comes too short and shallow and her lungs feel like they're constricting and she can't breathe and her throat locks up.

"Baby, _breathe_," Finn murmurs and she can't really hear him and she feels like she's underwater, pulled in an undertow and she can't kick her way out. "Rachel, you're—_Rachel_."

He's rubbing her back and the weight on her chest starts to feel a little lighter, and she decides to focus instead on the smooth motion of Finn's hand on her body and after a few minutes, she feels her muscles relax and she slumps against Finn's chest.

"You scared me," he says softly, hugging her close. "What happened?"

She's gasping for air, delighting in the feeling of her lungs taking in oxygen and working properly and she nuzzles into Finn's neck. "I'm not really sure. I think I had a panic attack."

"What's—what's that?"

"What it sounds like." She feels his arms tighten around her waist and she presses her cheek against the side of his neck. "Finn, you're my very best friend."

She's not sure, since she can't see his face, but she's pretty sure he's smiling as he answers, "You're mine, too."

* * *

It's an accident that she overhears them, really. She's merely walking back to Finn's room to resume their kissing, and she can't resist tiptoeing past Kurt's room. You cannot blame her for simply using her ears—that's ludicrous, after all, and Rachel refuses to engage in anything a rapper names himself after (what _is_ a snoop dog, anyways?).

The conversation is a little muffled, through the door, but thankfully, Rachel has near perfect senses and can hear rather clearly.

"Just give her a break, dude." That's Finn, of course. "She, like, had this attack the other day. She needs you."

"Why me when she has you?"

She can nearly imagine the look on Finn's face, one eyebrow cocked and the other straight, his eyes penetrating, his bottom lip pushed a little bit outwards. It's his _really_ face. "You're her, like, best friend in the world."

"Not anymore," Kurt says quietly. "Not when _you're_ there to fill my role."

"It's different, with us, Kurt. And you know that, too. We're something—something else. Something really special, and yeah, she might tell me everything under the sun, but—look, Kurt. She thinks of you as her brother, and I'm sort of on the outside of that realm of her life. You know?"

"I guess so..." Kurt trails off, and her ears catch the sound of Finn lumbering to his feet, and those same feet approaching the door. Practicing a maneuver she learned in Pilates, she manages to roll away from the door and springs into Finn's bedroom, reclaiming her previous position on the bed. She can't really stop smiling.

"Hey, sunshine," Finn greets as he steps back inside and climbs onto the bed beside her. "I was downstairs, taking an aspirin. I had a study headache."

She nods, using every one of her acting skills to reign in her smile, and kisses his cheek. "Finn, I really, really love you."

He smiles, and his cheeks turn a little pink. "Me, too, Rach."

* * *

The play is fast approaching, and she's more and more positive that her role as Marian will simply astound her audience. She gets made fun of _a lot_ by the juniors, and even some seniors, particularly for her enthusiasm in promoting the play. Finn tells her it's cute, that she rides her bike around town promoting the show, but it's _necessary_. She wants to sing to a sold out audience at least once before she dies, and who knows, she could die any day! It really is quite pertinent that she accomplish as many short term goals as soon as possible.

When she tells Finn that, he gives her his _exasperated_ face and tells her she's being way too morbid. He just doesn't understand her. Like all great artists, she is incredibly misunderstood. Although, she had hoped that Finn would always just...get her.

Regardless, she refuses to let her pre-show excitement waver, no matter _how_ many times Finn shoots her that look. And yes, she does get laughed at when she insists on walking backwards, and after a few times, Finn is a little sick of opening doors for her, since she is a strong woman and can open her _own_ doors, thank you very much, but part of her pre-show ritual is to avoid doorknobs. Kisses, too, much to his chagrin, but she's more than willing for a cuddle session, so long as no part of their bodies touch their mouths.

The day of the show dawns bright and gray, and the weather channel throws around the possibility for snow, which she prays against. Inclement weather must _not_ ruin her night, nor will Finn's quiet attitude. She will simply go about her day like it is any other day.

Papa and Daddy still fight, but she's taken to mixing a sleeping aid with her tea so that she sleeps through the night. Most nights without, she wakes up for hours in the middle of the night, and she can_not_ have under eye circles. Kurt even smiles at her sometimes these days, so things are _really_ looking up.

She has half a mind to chastise Finn on his deplorable attitude, but decides it is best to just ignore him and go about her days as if he does not exist, which is easy, since he seems to be _avoiding _her. Perhaps she is making _him_ feel unwanted, with all this non-kissing and whatnot, and she hopes he knows that is extremely far from the truth. Not kissing him only makes her want him more, and she cannot wait until she makes her post-show debut and can finally kiss him.

But it's hours before the show, and she isn't required to get into her costume just yet so she's spending some time with Tina, that she sees Finn, shoulders hunched, making his way out of the building.

"Finn!" She yells, but he doesn't turn, so she chases after him. All this, on opening night! She could strain her voice, trip and scar her face, or worse, crack her head open—anyway. She finally makes it to him and tugs on his arm, worried that he has maybe gone temporarily deaf, or is _actually_ ignoring her, when she notices the white earbuds in his ears.

"I've been calling you for three hours," she complains, holding onto his wrist and panting.

"You're really out of shape," he comments flatly, and he must immediately regret it, because his eyes go all wide and his eyebrows quirk. "Sorry."

"I'm sorry my daily elliptical use does not have me prepared to follow a six foot three giant through a parking lot." She breathes out once, slowly, and releases his arm. "Anyways. What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your eyes are all sad, and your shoulders are hunched, and you think I don't know when the boy I love is upset?"

"You haven't been paying much attention to me lately," he comments, a little bitterly, and if it weren't her magical day, she would yell at him for his tone.

"It _is_ opening night, Finn." He shrugs. "Just—just tell me."

"I don't wanna bother you. It's nothing. Just college stuff, okay? I don't know where I wanna go."

"Finn, there are many great state school options in Ohio, you know, plus you will probably get recru—"

His face hardens as he interrupts her, "I'm not a good enough football player to get recruited, okay? That's why I'm upset." He purses his lips and looks away, and if she thinks he's on the verge of _something_, good or bad, she's not sure. "Look, I've really gotta get home. I'll see you tonight, break a leg."

He presses his hand against her shoulder, and she hates seeing this—this devastation on his face, but there's not much she can do but to call back, "Finn, I love you," and she'd be worried she could lose him if not for that familiar, sweet, half smile.

* * *

**tbc**


	5. V

**a/n**: extraordinarily sorry for the wait! thanks so, so much for the reviews, and i hope you enjoy the chapter!

dedicated 2 the angel rachel grubbly plank

* * *

V

_i am thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images_

_and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned_

There's a bouquet of lilies in a vase set atop the counter in front of her mirror at intermission that she knows instinctively are from Finn. They make her smile, and Tina pinches her wrist when she sees them, and she feels like the luckiest girl in the world, because not only has he sent the flowers, but _two_ gold stars, one with just her name and the other with a message that makes her cheeks warm and her heart quicken.

She wishes she could sneak into the audience and kiss him on the mouth, because she feels like she hasn't done hat as much as she could lately, but instead, she tucks all this love for Finn and channels it into her performance. She hopes he knows that while she's holding Sebastian's hand and singing 'Till There Was You, she's thinking only of him.

* * *

He's the first one to scoop her into a hug when she emerges from backstage. She laughs with delight as he holds her close, and it's like there hasn't been any of that weird tension between them this past week, and she snuggles into his frame as he keeps her body in his embrace.

"You were incredible, baby," he tells her, his lips brushing wetly against her earlobe. "Did you like the flowers?"

She's on her feet now, but she keeps his hands on her waist. "I adored them."

"Good." He leans down to kiss her, but Papa and Daddy have spotted her and rush over, a huge bouquet of carnations in their arms. She shrugs at Finn as they wrap her up in their arms and he's lost to her among a sea of people, family and friends, and even strangers.

But when the fray ceases, he's still there, leaning against one of the walls of the lobby, and she hurries over to him and puts her hands into his. "You stayed."

"Yeah. I was wondering what you were doing."

"Well, there's a cast party at one of the senior's houses…" His face falls a little. "But I don't have to go right away. Or! You can come with me."

Papa and Daddy march up then and hug her one last time. "Not _too_ late, sweet pea."

She kisses both of their cheeks and turns back to Finn. "I'm officially without a ride to the party."

"D'you—d'you wanna go somewhere with me?"

Rachel curves against him as he wraps his arm around her shoulders and she looks up at him. She doesn't really want to go to the party tonight, anyway. The senior whose house it's hosted at sort of hates her. "I would really like that, Finn."

He doesn't take her anywhere special, but it's special because she's with him. They huddle beneath blankets in the bed of his truck, and she even lets him kiss her when he nuzzles her cheek slightly. She doesn't think she'll ever tire of just how affectionate he is. He's trailing his mouth down her neck, wary to keep his teeth away from her skin, when she pushes his head away.

"Wait," she breathes, and cuddles closer to him. It's cold outside, and it hasn't snowed yet but the day is an hour from ending. "Are you…okay?"

"Okay?"

"Yes." She'd put her hands on his face if she had mittens, but she is gloriously unprepared for the weather, and thanks _God_ Finn keeps spare blankets in the backseat of his truck. "Earlier, I mean…"

"Oh." He looks away. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll—I'll figure all that stuff out."

"Okay." She wishes she were older, that she knew the college process as well as the other seniors do, she wishes she could help him somehow. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being such a diva this week." She slips her hand into his. "You know how I get. I didn't mean to—to neglect you or anything."

"S'okay. I mean, I probably could've been more supportive or whatever."

She feels so, so cold, but he's so warm as he tugs her into the space between his legs. "How are you so warm?"

He laughs and unzips his jacket and pulls her even closer to his body, wrapping the lapels of the jacket around her. "I dunno I'm bigger than you, I've got, like, way more room for insulation."

She tucks her head under his chin, content in the silence of the moment, the simple gesture of his fingers in slow circles on her stomach.

* * *

Part of Rachel's pre-show ritual is an hour of yoga followed by a brief meditation. Her fathers know better than to disturb her, and Finn is at work, and Kurt is still not talking to her, so when she sets her mat out in the living room and puts on her reflective CDs and prepares herself for over an hour to herself.

Except midway through a sun salutation, the door bursts open. "_Kurt_, I'm in the middle of my yoga," she says calmly, bending into downward dog.

"Can't it _wait_?"

"No." She frowns, and pulls one foot forward and then the other. But her clear state of mind has already fogged and she sighs, releasing her taut posture. "Fine, you've interrupted my meditation. If my performance tonight is completely off, I'm blaming _you_!"

Kurt rolls his eyes and sits primly on the sofa. "So, where were _you_ last night?"

She furrows her brow and crosses the room to turn off the music. "With Finn. Why?"

"Um, you're the star of the show, Rachel. You're basically required to attend _every_ cast party."

"You know as well as I do that Jessica Frank _hates_ me."

He purses his lips. "That is very true. After all, she is the best senior. Marian really _is_ her part, but—anyway. Finn is changing you, Rachel. And no one else has the guts to tell you."

Nothing really comes to mind in response; she just rolls her yoga mat and puts it in the hall closet, mind running through possible answers and she just comes up with, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I don't know what you want me to say." She sits beside him on the couch. "I really miss you, Kurt."

He sighs. "Then why'd you _lie_?"

"I don't really know. You said you didn't want to share either of us. And we—we didn't want to hurt you, you know?" He nods infinitesimally. "Yes, and we were worried it'd get ruined under instantaneous scrutiny."

"I guess I understand that." He pats her hand. "Besides, Finn _really_ loves you."

"He does?" Her cheeks go pink, despite the familiarity of his love it's quite nice to hear a third party's validation. Kurt nods and she leans her head on his shoulder. "I've missed you _so_ much."

He sighs and all the tension in his shoulders dissipates. "Oh, Rachel, we have _so_ much to discuss."

* * *

She thinks about it sometimes, the impending separation. It's just the end of November, the musical is finished, and the year spans before her, bleak and boring. Finn refuses to talk to her about the future (theirs, hers, his, both separated and conjoined) and these days they kiss and do homework and kiss some more when they spend time together.

And really, Finn is the best boyfriend. He's sweet and kind and _so_ hot and he really loves her and she really loves him, too, but sometimes he treats her like a little girl and it's just so _frustrating_. When she tries to bring it up he just covers her mouth with his own, and the afternoon is spent exchanging kisses instead of words and she'll never ever tire of kissing him, just—she wants to talk.

He may think otherwise, but he really is her best friend.

"Finn?" He glances up from his plate, and it's an informal date night, they're just eating dinner in her empty house but it's nice and romantic and quiet and he smiles at her and she almost _doesn't_ continue, but curiosity bests her. "Where are you applying to college?"

"Well, applications were due December first and it's, like, the tenth, now." He won't really meet her eyes. "You know, Dayton, OSU, Cleveland State. State schools, pretty much."

"Nowhere outside?" He shakes his head, and she purses her lips, thinks of her future, which will invariably end in New York. "Those are good choices, Finn."

He smiles and he takes her hand. "Thanks, baby. I hope I get in."

It feels a little false, those words, the quirk of his smile, but she chooses to ignore it. "Oh, Finn, you know you're_ so_ talented. You could go anywhere!"

He leans across the table and kisses her right on the mouth, and his lips are warm and sweet, and his dimples mark his happiness when they pull away, and she _likes_ that she puts that expression on his face. "So, your birthday's coming up."

She stands, starts clearing the table. "It is." Really, she's not sure where he's going with this. Last year on her birthday he gave her the prettiest pink necklace she'd ever seen and a kiss on the cheek. She's not sure how he can top that, but she knows he'll try, and he probably will. "So?"

He continues as she enters the kitchen, and she hears him rise from his chair. She likes this, being domestic with him, and as she's rinsing their plates he places their glasses on the counter beside the sink and bumps her hip. "_So_, I was thinking we could do something…special."

Finn's got his hands on her hips and he pulls her gently against him, kisses her neck, and aren't they too young to feel this way? "Like?"

She knows she's teasing him but she can't really resist the opportunity when it's given. "Mom and Burt are going to an antique show in Columbus. Kurt's gonna end up at Blaine's anyway, and we'll have the house to ourselves."

"Um," he's kissing all around her neck, leaving little hickeys she'll get mad about in the morning, or on Monday when she's dressing in her Christmas apparel for school, but for now she's just going to revel in the feeling of being a girl loved very much by a boy. "Sounds—sounds great."

His mouth curves against her skin and she turns and pulls his mouth onto her own.

* * *

She and Finn play hooky on the last day of school before Christmas break. Really, though, there's only three hours of classes, and all the teachers either offer the time as a study hall or show videos, and she thinks the time is better spent curved beside Finn, not quite touching, in her bed. Papa and Daddy are at work, and she and Finn really have the house to themselves for the rest of the day, and well into the night—her parents are going out, trying to reconnect, and she hopes it works. She's certain she could really make gray hair her own, but she isn't ready for it just yet.

Finn runs his hand over the top of her head. "Where'd you go?"

"Just thinking." They're facing each other, curled beneath the comforter on her bed. He's got one of his arms folded under his head, and he's staring at her like _that_ and she feels her cheeks warm with her heart.

He smoothes his thumb over her furrowed brow, "'Bout your dads?" She nods, and he nods too, pursing his lips. "S'good that they're out, right?"

"Yes."

She doesn't _really_ want to talk about this, and he must know, because he scoots closer and wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close. His thigh slips between hers and their lips meet somewhere in the middle. From there it's simple, easy, even, the steady removal of clothes that heap at the foot of her bed, wrinkles imprinting on fabric that when she irons later on she'll remember how they got there and consider them marks of—of Finn rather than just plain _wrinkles_.

He's seen her naked before, but somehow in the subdued, gray morning light that strains through her thin curtains, it feels like the first time. And she's seen him, too, but when he settles over her his skin is hot like he's nervous, and maybe he is, because she is too and she knows this is something entirely new for the both of them, much different from the hurried touches after school in their allotted alone time. Really, they have all day.

But his kisses change once they're completely undressed, they're slower and his hands move differently and she knows what's going to happen even when he kisses between her eyebrows and then looks in her eyes for a long stretch of time, and it's just him and her and _this_, and his fingers press against the juncture of her thighs. He asks her if she's sure and she is so, so certain, and she helps him roll on the condom and he holds her hand when he presses into her for the very first time, perfectly cautious and yet, so, so boy, because his eyes roll into the back of his head momentarily and she doesn't know why that's what she remembers rather than the stinging pain of him being inside her, but then the discomfort wanes, and it starts to feel sort of good.

She's grabbing onto his arm but he does this thing where he slides his hand into hers and he moves faster and kisses her _so_ hard and she knows he's holding off on coming, but she tugs at his hair and tells him it's okay, but he presses his thumb between her legs, and she comes just as he does.

After, he stays inside her for a long moment, and she's got her arms wrapped around his waist, filled with all this love for this boy and it's still so early in the morning that her eyes feel heavy with sleep. He gets up, moves away from her and disposes of the condom and she can't _not_ stare at him. He's sort of perfect, really, but his face is all red when he climbs back in bed, clad only in his boxers. To be fair, she puts her bra and underwear on, too, and she thinks someday they'll be comfortable enough to just lie naked with one another, but they're still teenagers, still worried about rolls and stretches of dry skin.

She perches on his chest and kisses his cheek, which is so rosy, and he's so, so handsome and she feels—she feels sexy, stretched across his chest with his hands on her bare hips. Tired, too, and sore already, and Finn wants to talk, but she's already sinking into sleep by the time he finishes his sentence.

* * *

They're cuddled on the couch in her living room beneath a blanket when Finn says, "I wanted it to be better."

She's so warm, curled against Finn's body, a blanket over them. They're thumbing through Netflix and she's feeling a little out of it, a little hazy simply from the nap she's only woken up from ten minutes ago.

"Huh?"

He's got a crease imprinted on his cheek that she runs her thumb over. "The—our first time. Sex. Like, it was supposed to be on your birthday and _so_ romantic and there was supposed to be some classical music you love in the background. It wasn't—we weren't supposed to do it to Iron and Wine in your cold room while we're playing hooky."

"I thought it was perfect," she says quietly, and she pushes up the hem of his shirt and runs a circle over the skin on his stomach with her thumb. "_You're_ perfect."

"It was," he agrees. "It was just supposed to be—romantic."

She closes her eyes because she's tired and nuzzles a little against Finn. She feels so connected to him, so comfortable and lost in him that she just wants to attach herself to him and never let go. "I found it very romantic, Finn. You put too much pressure on yourself."

"I guess." She tucks his arm tighter around her. "Hey, we're _not_ finishing that season of _Gossip Girl_."

"Don't you love me?" She pushes her bottom lip out and his gaze softens from his teasing smirk and he brushes his thumb over her lip.

"So much, baby girl," he murmurs and kisses the spot. "_So_ much."

* * *

She wants to have sex with him again, the next day, when she sees him clad in mittens and a hat and boots and a scarf shoveling his driveway, and his cheeks are rosy like they were when she laid on top of him after they had sex, and she just—she wants him.

So she puts on her fabulous new winter coat and hat and mittens and boots and tiptoes outside. Papa and Daddy are in a meeting with their marriage counselor in their office and they prefer absolute silence in the house so they can concentrate on what's really important.

Tomorrow is her birthday, and she wonders what Finn has planned. She hopes it's something intimate and just them. His whole family is home today, and even though they usually work on Saturdays, Papa and Daddy will be home all day and she never wanted to be a sex-crazed teenager, but she's feeling a little petulant at the idea of not having sex with Finn until tomorrow. Or later.

"Finn!" He turns mid shovel and gets snow all over his pants and she laughs but he's probably so, so cold.

"Baby, what're you doing out here?" She manages to climb over the snow drifts without falling down and he wraps one arm around her waist and kisses her hard, right on the mouth.

Everything between them feels so different now. She feels as though she may actually suffocate if she doesn't feel his tongue on hers, and his hands lift to grasp the lapels of her jacket and she thinks he wants inside, to feel all over, she decides it is an apt time to pull away, simply to save the neighbors from getting a show.

"I'm visiting you," she says, wiping at her bottom lip, an answer to his forgotten question. He just shovels more snow. "What are you doing today?"

Her day is completely free, though she supposes she should unwrap herself from her Finn bubble and tell Kurt all about this new development. "I dunno. I've got some errands to run before the next wave of the storm hits and stuff, but let's do something tonight, okay?"

"I should really see Kurt, anyways. Is he home?" Finn nods. "I'll let you work." She pulls him down for another kiss that lasts a little _too_ long for public and heads inside with his eyes trained on her.

* * *

Kurt screams when she tells him. Squeals, maybe, is more accurate of the sound that comes from his throat, and she can only imagine the strain on his delicate vocal chords, but she leaves him be, because honestly? She feels like squealing, too.

"I don't want details, 'cause—ew. But!" His words end with a dozen exclamation points dotted in the space around them. "Was he—you know?"

"_Oh_, yeah."

"That's all I need to know, then." He purses his lips and taps his fingers on his chin. "One more. Did you like it?"

She just nods and he looks—he looks actually _happy_ for her, and maybe there's a little mistiness that clouds the corners of her eyes, but she's so, so glad to have her best friend back.

"I'm sorry I've been so difficult," he offers. "But you know how much of a diva I am."

"Yes," she agrees solemnly. "Only because those same ideals are reflected in me." He laughs and they hook pinkies and she knows Finn is her soul mate, the absolute love of her life, but she firmly believes you can have platonic soul mates, too, and she is certain she's found hers in Kurt.

* * *

The first person to wish her a happy birthday is Papa, who sneaks into her room every year at precisely four fifty two in the morning to tap her on the shoulder and rouse her from her sleep to welcome her new year. This year he doesn't disappoint and he's almost crying because _his baby's sixteen_ and she just laughs and falls back asleep the moment he edges out of the room.

Papa and Daddy sing the moment she steps into the kitchen. Her pajamas are buttoned all the way to her throat and she's so, so cold, but happy, too. She's absolutely _certain_ sixteen will be the best year of her life—though, remembering Finn's tender touch, she can't imagine _how_. But she just has a feeling.

Also, her parents are working through their problems. Another bonus to sixteen.

* * *

Finn comes over and he kisses her right in the doorway, with Papa and Daddy in the living room, the credits to _Funny Girl_ rolling on the screen. "Happy birthday," he tells her, pressing his finger at the base of her neck, where his gift from last year sits.

He still stares at her with that soft-eyed gaze only now it makes her heart flip even _more_, because they're in love, naturally. She grabs his hand and he says hi to her dads and she pulls him into her room and she kisses him like she couldn't in front of her dads, and she feels so unlike herself but also completely like herself when she wraps her legs around Finn's waist and lets him kiss her _so_ hard.

They end up on her bed, just cuddling because she doesn't want to engage in any monkey business with Papa and Daddy right downstairs. Finn doesn't seem to mind _too_ much and settles in tracing his thumb over the chain of the necklace he gave her a year ago. She wonders what he'll surprise her with this year, and imagines a pretty ring promising his love forever, but she knows that's premature, even in how much she loves him.

It scares her. She's only sixteen and already feels so much, and it wasn't in her _plans_ to love him like this. If there's one thing Rachel abhors, it's the derailing of her plans. But she supposes that this kind of derailment that comes with a boy loving her like Finn does, well, it's rather good.

* * *

Finn buys her a the prettiest white gold charm bracelet and includes three charms: a star, an _R_ for Rachel, and an _F_ for Finn.

She's alone in her room when she clasps the F and R beside each other and can't help from cheering in exaltation.

* * *

Finn's grip of her hand when they return to school in January is a little looser. She doesn't notice until one day they walk side by side and he doesn't even take her hand, or offer her his arm. Of course, he's busy talking to one of his friends from the football team, so she isn't really his top priority at this moment.

She's being silly, of course, especially since she and Finn spent most of their winter break together. Really, she's only adjusting to what was normal before they had sex, and it'll take a few days, but she'll be _fine_. They're fine.

He's on the floor, his back resting against the end of her bed, and she's stretched on her stomach reading her math notes, but studying for math is really, really difficult. Especially when Finn is _right_ there.

"Hey, Finn?"

"Hmm?"

"Umm…" She pauses, unsure, and dislikes that fault and recomposes into the confident girl she's used to within seconds. "When do you hear from your schools?"

"Um, I've gotten into all the state schools, so."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She can feel—can feel _something_ dancing precariously on the edge of all this, but he turns and kisses her.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to not tell you, 's just not a big deal."

"Finn—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, there's nothing wrong with state schools. But, like, college is just whatever, Rachel. You'll find out."

She doesn't think so. Besides, she already knows where she's going: NYADA, also known as the (extremely) prestigious New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts. And if not NYADA, then NYU, and then Juilliard. She'll go _anywhere_ in New York, as long as she ends up on Broadway.

"I'm going to New York," she tells him, because he knows she wants Broadway, but she's never told him New York is her destination. Her dream. "When I graduate, of course."

"Huh." He pauses and he doesn't look devastated that their futures might take them in different directions. In fact, he doesn't say anything else about it.

* * *

She can feel him pulling away from her, and she has no idea how to stop it. She doesn't want to be stereotypical and clingy and little girlish, but—she _is_ a little girl dressing up in adult clothes and they still have sex when they can and kiss and go on dates but there's some sort of block built between them and she just wants to know _why_.

Maybe it's wrong, but she pulls away, too. Spends her time at his house in Kurt's room instead of his.

He doesn't even seem to notice her, these days.

* * *

They're having sex when she, like, breaks down. She absolutely feels herself coming apart at the seams emotionally and she cries but plays it off like she loves him so much and he kisses her neck and jaw and tells her he loves her so much, too, and comes and she doesn't and for the first time she doesn't really enjoy sex with him and she thinks this is a turning point.

Even in the post-coital cuddling, it just doesn't feel the same when she knows he's keeping her out of his life. She'd like to think they share _everything_, but it appears otherwise.

"You okay?" He's rubbing her shoulder, and she pushes her lips together and nods. "'Cause you were, like…crying."

"I'm fine, Finn," she says and closes her eyes. "Just…just tired."

"You've been tired a lot lately."

"I have been," she affirms slowly.

"D'you have, like, mono?" He furrows his brow. "I probably have it too, now, 'cause we've been kissing so much."

"No."

"Are—are your dads okay?"

She sighs. "Yeah. We're not, though."

"We as in…as in you and your dads?" She pauses and slides out from beneath his arm. They're in his room and she scoots to the end of his bed and picks up her bra.

"I've got an English test tomorrow," she says as she dresses and he grabs her arm.

"Whoa, Rach, wait. Talk to me."

"This is the longest conversation we've had in weeks." She clenches her jaw and zips up her dress. "_Weeks_."

"I'm—I'm sorry?"

"Me, too." She storms out dramatically and hopes he'll chase her. She thinks maybe three months ago, he would've.

She can't really grasp what's changed.

* * *

They don't break up, but they aren't really together. She gets her license and a car in March and doesn't need rides from him anymore and he doesn't walk her to her classes and she doesn't meet him after fourth period to kiss in a (mostly) abandoned hallway, but she doesn't change her Facebook status or date anyone else.

"What's up with you and Frankenteen?" Santana's been a surprisingly _good_ friend this year. Nowhere near the level of friendship she has with Kurt, or even Tina, but—she's pleasantly surprised.

"Um." She blinks and sighs. "We're—we're fine. Why, did he say something to you?"

"Observation. You nervous about him leaving you in the fall?"

She leans against the locker beside Santana. "Yes, honestly. He's just—he's not very forthcoming these days. About _anything_. We just…we don't talk."

"You fuck," Santana surmises. "As fun as that is, I'm sure you're less than pleased and he barely notices."

"Well," the hall is decidedly empty, "we haven't…_you know_ in a while. Or I haven't."

Santana laughs, and, okay, it's not _funny_. "Just go find him and fuck him. That's _my_ sound advice. Quit the talking."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, thanks for the _great_ advice."

"Listen, I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life, or anything. Just, you know. Take care of it."

"I don't know _how_."

"Figure it out."

She supposes she, too, has been a little distant these days. Finn _has_ sent her text messages and he called once, too, but she's just used to more from him, and adjusting isn't her finest suit. She isn't good with change, and maybe—maybe she should be a little more supportive.

* * *

He's standing at his locker at the end of the day when she decides it's the appropriate time to, as Santana advised, _take care of it_.

"Hi," she says softly so that she isn't loud, but quiet enough that it's private.

He turns and he must be surprised but his mouth spreads into a smile. "Hi."

Impulsively, she wraps her arms around his middle and breathes him in, feels her body nearly melt into his. It feels so, so good to be embraced by him, and to embrace him in return. He rests his cheek atop her head like always, and things are starting to feel okay again.

"Can I drive you home?" He steps away from her and presses his palm against hers, leaving the choice to her to intertwine their fingers.

She does and she nods and leans against him and finally, finally things feel like they're going back to where they were.

* * *

Finn wins prom king. She's with him, of course, as his date, but Quinn Fabray wins queen and she kind of hates seeing him dance with her, but she'll never tell him. They're somewhat back to normal, but they haven't really _talked_ about anything, just jumped back to where they thought they should be, and Kurt tells her that's a big mistake, but she'd rather push their problems under the rug rather than waste her remaining time with him fighting.

When the king/queen dance is over, he makes his way over to her and hugs her tight. She feels so beautiful tonight, in her pink dress and curled ponytail and he's leaned his forehead against hers and told her so a myriad of times. He tells her again when another slow song plays and he puts his crown on her head.

"'Cause you're my queen," he explains, his cheeks all red, and she leans up and kisses him.

Later, when she curls beneath his arm, naked and so, so warm, she realizes it's time to start marking _lasts_. Graduation is in a few weeks, and within four months, he'll be off to whatever university he chooses—he's still so secretive about it.

She just wants to know so she can map out the best routes and save money for gas and also so she can look at the school and consider it as a possible backup.

But for now, she's content to curve her body against his and fall asleep, even _if_ she's being plagued by (appropriate) naïveté.

* * *

In the beginning of the summer, Finn stops telling her he loves her, and in the end, moves to California.

* * *

**tbc**


	6. VI

**wowwowowow! thanks for your amazing response both to this story and especially the last chapter. you are all fantastic little bunny angels and i thank you kindly. also, sorry for the wait, but college, man. also may it be noted that this chapter did not go as expected, regardless, i hope you enjoy! dedicated to my good friend old gregg and also every person who messaged me on my tumblr and encouraged me to write yr all fantastic.**

* * *

VI

_he went to California_

_hearing that everything's warmer there_

"So, Dayton?" She says, pressing her hands over his shoulders. He glances at her and shakes his head, smiling slightly. She narrows her eyes. "Why can't you just _tell_ me?"

"I don't – I don't wanna hurt you, baby." She knows he's being honest, but he's kind of hurting her lying.

"You're hurting me by being evasive."

"I – um." He sighs, closes his eyes. It's July and so, so humid outside, but she can't resist spending time with him outside in his hammock. One of the straps on her dress is slipping down her shoulder, and his fingers brush her warm skin, and she knows he's trying to distract her with kissing, because he leans close and brushes his nose against hers, but just when his mouth nears hers, she turns so that his mouth presses soundly against her cheek.

"Finn," she says softly, fingers curled in the collar of his shirt. He sighs again, slides his hands around her waist and squeezes softly.

"I think I wanna – I think I wanna go to," he stops suddenly, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. "I _am_ going to – to California."

She thinks of her English class, when they studied turning points in poems and sonnets, and imagines this moment a break in the page of their story, the change in the cadence of the rhythm and pentameter, a long black dash interrupting their happiness as the poem spirals out of its form.

The moments crawl by slowly and she can't really look away from him. He's not looking at her, but out into the yard, his brow furrowed, jaw set. She doesn't know why _he_ seems angry. _She's_ the one who's been completely blindsided.

"O-oh," she manages. "What for?"

He turns and she's still sitting on top of him and he _must_ still love her, he has to, but he shrugs and he tells her, "To live."

Her tongue darts out, swipes across her bottom lip. "What, um…what does that mean for u-us?"

His hand brushes over the top of her head, rustles the strands from their plait, and if she weren't so filled with sadness she'd be annoyed. It takes her a _long_ time to French braid her own hair, okay?

"I – I can't predict the future, or anything, you know, and like, I _wanna_ be with you, I do, I just…I don't know."

"It's your future, Finn," she tells him, scooting as far from him as the hammock will allow. The law of physics, however, sends her tumbling back against his body. "What do _you_ want to do?"

He puts his hand on her waist. "I – I wanna be with you."

"For the summer?" She can't help weaving traces of hope into her voice and he nods and she can already imagine the end of the summer, the end of _this_, but he's kissing her and her thoughts travel elsewhere.

* * *

A few days later, she's practicing her audition piece for the upcoming community theater production of _West Side Story_. Finn's leaning back on the bed, watching her, one knee bent, hands clasped behind his head.

"You're gonna visit, right?"

She freezes mid-note, feels the sound halt and freeze in her throat. "Excuse me?"

His eyes are half moons and he's smiling just barely. "In California." She can't do anything but stare at him for a long moment, eyes squinting in confusion. "Come here."

She stands at the side of the bed. He pats the space beside him, and she crawls on, curls beside him, but doesn't quite touch him. He sighs, turns on his side, slips his thigh between hers.

"You said this would be over at the end of the summer," she whispers.

He licks his lips and sighs, stretching one of his arms out so his hand curls around her shoulder and runs down her arm. "I was wrong. I want you, always."

She's sort of sick of the whiplash. "I don't – I don't understand. You have to help me understand, Finn."

He's silent, and she thinks that maybe says more than any explanation.

"I love you," she says, and his mouth quirks a little, "but you've been – you've been jerking me around all year long."

"I'm sorry," and he does sound genuine, she supposes, "like really sorry. But it's been a rough year, you know? Like it isn't – it's just…like it's not you, it's me and I know how that sounds, but it's – it's the truth."

She blows out a long breath and he cups his hand over her hip, his thumb stretching and running along the skin of her lower abdomen. She feels so minute next to him, her legs tangled with his, and she thinks that when he leaves for California she's really going to miss this, miss _him_ – or maybe not this weird, post graduate version of him, but the one who clasped a necklace around her neck on her fifteenth birthday. She'll miss the boy who kissed her in the oily garage shop, not the boy who evaded their future for an entire semester, or the boy who's leaning in right now to kiss her, to distract her.

She'll let him, because _god_, she still loves him, and she hopes he still loves her, too.

* * *

Finn takes her to a party with his friends on the Fourth of July and winds up completely plastered, passed out on Noah Puckerman's couch. Rachel has decided not to drink tonight, and she's glad of it, too, since most of the night she spent ensuring Finn didn't choke on his own vomit, or have a seizure, or have sex with another girl. She's not sure how those scenarios rank in her head, really.

"Your boyfriend is a lush," Santana says, slurring slightly. "Fuck."

She's got Finn's head in her lap and runs her fingers along the smooth skin of his cheeks. He really is so out of it, and she smiles slightly. He just looks so innocent when he sleeps, like a little boy or something. "Truly."

"So, California, huh?" She knocks her shoulder into Rachel's.

"I suppose."

"You're, what, a junior this year?" She nods and Santana purses her lips, looking from Finn back to Rachel. "You'll get over it, you know?"

"Get over what?" Finn stirs a little bit in her lap before settling again, but one of his hands stretches to find hers, and that little gesture, it both lifts and breaks her heart.

"Him," and her voice is soft and a little melancholy, and she's only known Santana this year, but she's _so_ intrigued. "You'll just…you'll go to school and he'll do whatever and you'll grow apart and it'll stop hurting, believe me, I've been there."

"Expand."

"Brittany, she was a senior, I was a freshman, we fell in love and she left and we stayed together and then – well, you, know. I grew up and she grew up and – and then the distance didn't hurt anymore, and that's when I knew that I didn't love her anymore."

"I'm – I won't give up on Finn."

Santana pats her shoulder, gets up, and leaves, disappears somewhere in Noah's house, and her mind feels so heavy, her heart, too, and she lies down beside Finn on the couch. He stirs slightly when he feels her curl beside him and opens his eyes just a little.

"Night, Finn," she says quietly, and he groans and his mouth falls on her eyebrow.

"G'night, baby," he mumbles, and his missing _I love you_ echoes in her ears. She remembers so clearly how warm she'd felt last year on this day, remembers that shared beer and the way he'd kissed her like she was his whole world, and that memory is everything compared to this weird half-state they're in now.

* * *

She's sitting on his bed, watching him pack his life into suitcases and boxes. Some Rush song is playing from the speakers on his desk, and she's heard this song a million times over here in his room – it's really his post-coital song.

"I like this song," she offers, stretching onto her stomach. She's reading _The Age of Innocence_ for school, and it's come to a rather boring bit.

"Do you?"

She hums in agreement and the next thing she knows, Finn's rolling her onto her back and hovering above her, kisses her on the mouth. He's leaving in two days, and she wants to feel close to him one last time so when he slides the hem of her skirt up her thighs she lets him, and when he presses his mouth between her breasts she grabs his head and keeps him there.

He looks at her like he used to when he pushes inside of her, presses delicate little kisses all over her collarbone and she tries not to feel used, or like the entire universe is caving in around her, but_ god_, she loves him so, so much even after all the back and forth and mystery and confusion and ambiguities and she doesn't want to imagine an everyday when he doesn't live just three yards away from her.

"Are you okay?" He asks breathlessly, stilling inside of her and she nods and presses her hips against his so he'll keep moving.

When she comes, she presses her fingers into his back and keeps him close to her when he finishes, and once he catches his breath he rolls them so he's no longer crushing him but is it – is it so wrong to want to feel him that close to her?

He sighs heavily. "That – that was the last time, huh? For awhile?"

She wonders if he tacks on that last bit for him or for her, and she tries to suppress the hope that flutters in her stomach like a baby bird on its first venture into flight. "Yeah."

He grabs her face and kisses her softly, and she wishes she could feel nothing for him, wishes that kissing him didn't still make her feel like a live wire.

"I should go," she says quietly, effortlessly clasping her bra. Finn presses his fingers beneath the back of it, runs his hand over the skin there. "I – you need to pack."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I'll – are you going to come over tomorrow? For dinner?"

He looks so unsure, leaning on his bent elbows, sheets at his waist, and she pulls her dress over her head. "Finn, before I go just – " She pauses. "What are you _really_ going to do in California? Go to school?"

"Yeah," he says, and she sort of hates that he's become this half-stranger to her. "I'm going to school."

"Okay." She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, nods once, and steps over a box on her way to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he echoes and she thinks that he used to walk her home, even in the middle of the day, and it isn't until she's back in her room and staring at the ceiling that she realizes she left her book in his room (and she supposes her heart is there, too).

* * *

Kurt comes over and they sit on her bed and she can't help but start to cry when Kurt asks about Finn, and she feels so – pathetic, really, like she can't stop her thoughts from running in circles around Finn.

"He'll come home," Kurt assures her, rubbing her back. "I'll miss him, too."

Her breath leaves in this little shudder. "I know, I'm so sorry, Kurt. But – he's been so…so distant and gone for most of the last few months and – can you miss something you have?"

Kurt sighs and opens his mouth when there's a knock at the door and Finn pops in. "Whoa," he says, "Rachel, are you okay?"

"Sad movie," Kurt explains quickly. "You know how our Rachel is affected by _The Time Traveler's Wife_."

"Yeah," she agrees, sniffling. "We had to turn it off."

"Okay," he nods slowly, "yeah, sounds like you, babe. Anyway, uh – you left your book in my room. Earlier. And I wanted to bring it by, I didn't know Kurt would be here."

"Well, Finn, it's my turn with Rachel. You can have her tomorrow."

Finn glares a little. "Dude, I'm _leaving_ in two days."

Kurt shrugs. "You didn't reserve her. It's my turn. Bye, Finn."

He sighs and steps to the edge of the bed to kiss her – Finn, obviously. "I'll see you tomorrow, Rachel. And stop watching those sad movies."

She nods and wipes beneath her eyes. "Okay, Finn, I – " She pauses. "See you."

* * *

He hugs her in the driveway. "You'll visit?"

"Definitely." She really does hate goodbyes. "I'm going to miss you so much."

They've kissed maybe twenty times just in the last five minutes, but he kisses her again. "_Fuck_, baby. I'm gonna go crazy without you."

"Profanity," she mumbles, and _god_, she hates crying, but Finn's voice is rough and emotional and she thinks maybe he hates crying, too. "I love you."

Those words are foreign, now, complete strangers to her lips and tongue, but she really does mean them. Finn brushes her hair over one of her shoulders, and tells her, "I love you, too."

"I don't want to say goodbye to you," she murmurs, and she hugs him again, and his mom and Burt and Kurt come out of the house to take him to the airport to take him to California, away from her, and she kisses him on the cheek. She thinks that if they weren't saying goodbye she'd be mad at him, would ask him why he wasted their last months together, but instead she squeezes his forearms and tells him she loves him again and he gets in the car and she watches him drive away.

* * *

He calls her on the first day of her junior year of high school. It takes her by surprise – he hasn't called in the past two weeks – but it's really good to hear his voice.

Talking to him now that their lives are so separate is a sort of – it's just really, really weird. He starts watching some television show they'd promise to watch together, and when she mentions starting it too so they can watch via Skype, he's evasive, _again_. She's sort of tired of it all, the back and forth, the evasiveness, the curiosity that swims in her mind, because honestly, she still doesn't understand.

So when he calls again a week later and she's working on an assignment for glee club, improved upon by Mr. Schuester, her favorite teacher, she kind of explodes.

"I don't _get_ you, Finn."

"_Huh? It's like, really simple – like – "_

"No, not _that_. I just don't understand you."

"_What are you talking about_?"

"Are you in love with me?" He pauses. Therein lies her answer. "Okay, bye – "

"_Of course I am_," he responds quickly. "_I can't wait for you to visit._ _I'm just trying to adjust to stuff here, the time change, the classes, living on my own. It's totally weird_."

He's living in an apartment in San Diego and taking classes at some university and he works at a garage shop _just like back home_ and he sounds so happy, and he tells her he thinks he might want to work with music but he's not sure and she wonders why he had to go all the way to California to find himself.

"Why California?"

"_Everything is just…warmer here. You'll see when you visit, baby, I promise_."

"Finn…" She runs her fingers over her sheet music. "What happened to you – this – Finn, over winter break?"

His sigh is long and drawn out. "_Don't worry your pretty little head, sunshine. Listen, I've got a ton of homework to get to and I'll call you later, okay?_"

She knows he won't, but she tells him it's okay and returns to her assignment.

* * *

There's a new boy in her grade, and his name is Sam Evans. She is fairly certain she is as drawn to him as she is because he is so much like Finn, a jock with a curious little half smile who proves to be incredibly talented. Although she is not interested in him as anything more than a glee club co-captain, as she is taken (she thinks), she could use a good friend.

It's just _weird_ not seeing or talking to Finn everyday, and necessitates quite a bit of adjustment. But long distance is _hard_, really hard, and she misses him every single minute of the day.

Sam is so nice, but Finn doesn't really want to talk about all her new friends in the glee club, he wants to talk about California, and her, and she thinks he feels left out of her life the way she's felt for so long about _his_ life. Is it bad that she sort of likes that karma has found a way to rectify all this mess?

Anyway. She misses him everyday, really, truly, but sometimes it's nice to just go out with her girlfriends (and sometimes Kurt) and not have to worry about whatever's going on with Finn. Still, though, his absence just becomes more pronounced every single day.

* * *

In the middle of October, Tina breaks up with Mike. He's not even that far, just six or so hours away in Chicago. He could be on a completely different side of the country.

But right after she breaks up with Mike, she starts going out with Artie from glee, which she supposes really has been brewing all year long, and Rachel is happy for them, really, truly happy. Except it's almost like everyone's all matched up in her little circle of friends, Mercedes and whatever boy, Artie and Tina and Kurt and Blaine, still, and Sam is nice but it's so awkward being paired up with him and she thinks he might have a crush on her, but her heart lives in California, right beside Finn's.

She's going to see him in November, she decides, and one of the perks of having two fairly liberal fathers is that they let her do whatever she wants – so long as she can pay for her own plane ticket. And _thankfully_, she's been saving her money from babysitting and giving lessons at the JCC and she can just barely afford a flight in coach towards the end of November.

She is _so_ excited to see Finn, really. Skyping him just isn't the same as being with him and breathing him in and_ kissing him_, and god, holding his hand, and she really thought she'd be like Santana and Brittany and find her heart trailing back to Ohio, but it's cemented in California.

On the plane, she listens to an assortment of California themed songs to get herself amped, and it's so, so lovely when the flight lands and _warm_, even and she text messages Finn as soon as she's in the airport and he responds with just a little pink emoticon heart that makes her heart pound a little faster and she stumbles a little getting on the escalators to head down to baggage claim and as soon as she descends she sees him, tall, broad, and _so_ gorgeous.

She waves and hopes he sees her and judging from the smile that stretches his cheeks, he's spotted her. But she's hard to miss, in her pretty pink sweatshirt, and she wonders if he'll remember she wore it the very first time they had sex. She feels really good, seeing him, like he hadn't managed to break her heart and sew it together a dozen times, but she remembers hearing that your soul mate doesn't always make you the happiest, but the one who makes you feel the most. That's a nice idea, really, and thoroughly not her own, and she thinks that for every day Finn has made her happy there's a half a day she's spent sad, or without him, and that's – that can't be wrong, can it?

As soon as she's at ground level, he's there, waiting, with open arms and the nicest smile she thinks she's ever seen. And he's warm, so warm, and he lifts her up and he spins her and he kisses her and _wow_, she really has missed him so very much, from the very top of her heart.

"_Fuck_," he murmurs when he pulls away and she takes the time to notice the changes, and he looks thinner and he's got scruff, now, and he seems bigger, somehow, or maybe she's smaller, "I really fucking missed you, baby girl."

"Language," she murmurs into his shoulder, because she can't really stop hugging him, but she doesn't think she really minds his profanity. "And I missed you more."

"Let's get your bag, huh?" He puts his arm around her shoulders and escorts her to baggage claim and runs his hand up and down her arm. "I like this sweatshirt."

She could just kiss him.

* * *

His apartment is…different. A total boy's apartment, of course, all dark blues and browns and plaids but he's got posters up of bands she doesn't know and beside his bed is a picture of her. But the way he moves in his apartment, so familiarly, is a little unnerving. It's just – this place is his home, but it's not a home she fits into. She wonders if she can still fit into his life.

But then he puts both his hands on her hips and kisses her on the cheek, and she supposes she'll always have a place in his life.

"What do you wanna do tonight?"

He's sitting at the desk in the living room – there really only is _one_ room – and she's on his couch, her legs curled beneath her. He's working on homework for his anthropology class, and _like why does he even have to take that class if he's a music industry major_?

"Whatever you want." He nods and turns back to his homework and she's quiet for a little bit, thumbs through her own homework, and she feels so _old_, here, in his apartment, but in another respect, old because she's a junior in high school. Next month she'll be seventeen. When Finn finishes, he turns and he just looks at her. "What?"

"Nothing," he says quickly. "You just look different. Older."

She smiles at him. "Are you happy here?"

He puts his hand on his chin, and looks so thoughtful. "Yeah. Like, I miss home, and you, and like I think of all those experiences you're having without me, and I – I do miss it. But I love it here."

"I understand."

"Tomorrow, I'll show you 'round campus, except it'll be pretty empty. Everyone's home for the holiday."

"And tonight?"

His grin is infectious, and he presses his body over hers on the couch. "Tonight, we – we catch up for lost time."

* * *

He knots their fingers together, when they're lying in his bed. It's oddly domestic, and totally weird, being in his apartment, and for the first time in a long time things are really good between them, and she sort of hates that he has to live in a different time zone to be happy. But moreover, she really just wants him to be as happy as he can be.

"Did you hear about Mike and Tina?"

"Um," he furrows his brow, "that she broke up with him? Yeah. Totally broke his heart."

"Did she _really_?"

"Yeah, he like called me four times that week. I think he's fine, now, but like – yeah." He nuzzles her cheek. "I never wanna break up with you."

"You – you don't?" She blinks. "Then why the secrecy? What happened this year, Finn?"

"Baby, I don't want to talk about it and ruin our time together." He kisses her temple. "It's just – family stuff. And me stuff."

"I don't want you to not tell me things," she says quietly, and she's trying not to be super clingy, but – but she wants to be honest with him.

"You know I didn't get into Ohio State?" He rolls his eyes, and sits up, leaning against the headboard, and she joins him, though she wishes desperately to stay curled beside him. She shakes her head, feels her expression melt into concern. "Yeah. Like, I wasn't a good enough football player _or_ a good enough student for them."

He's always been somewhat insecure – or he _was_. She's sort of delighted to find him months into living on his own and already this wonderful, confident man, although she's always found him to be that person. She's just so pleased to find that he thinks he's that person, now, too.

So instead of asking more questions about all the drama that's ensued this past year, she kisses him right on the mouth, and she doesn't want to stop. He doesn't, either.

After, she's so, so tired, but so full of love for Finn. He pulls the blankets up around their shoulders and California is so much warmer than Lima but still cold because it's November, and she's spending Thanksgiving here with Finn and his family is going to fly out and she'll miss her dads but they're not big on the holiday, anyway.

"It really…" She pauses and yawns. "It, um, it really hurt me when you stopped telling me you love me."

They aren't really touching, just lying side by side beneath the blankets. "Come here."

She scoots close to him.

"I love you, and like, I always have. You're like – you're so amazing, Rach, and you wedged yourself into so many of my corners I don't think I really know where my heart stops and yours begins. And you're totally awesome, and you know it and that's totally awesome." He frowns. "I think I just – that scared me. Like you're the best thing that's ever really happened to me, so far, and I…I don't know. You've got so much ahead of you, and for so long I thought I didn't, you know?"

She nods and wants to fall asleep right here, wrapped up in his words and his arms and his blankets, but she's still _mad_ at him. "I don't – I can't forgive you for it, yet. Do you understand?" She stretches and looks him right in the eyes. "I'm still hurt from it all."

"I understand," he murmurs, and they're quiet for so long that she thinks he's fallen asleep and begins to allow her eyelids to droop. "I love you."

She wants to respond, but she's already sleep. Besides, she thinks he knows that she loves him, too.

* * *

Kurt makes fun of her the entire next day for her turkey sweater. Finn said he liked it, though, when she'd asked if it was okay, and so she doesn't pay Kurt any mind.

"You're just jealous," she tells him, leaning against him on Finn's couch.

"Why would I be jealous of _you_?" He's teasing. "Is it totally weird?"

"What?"

"This apartment."

She looks around and nods. "Totally weird."

"He's an adult, now."

"We will be, soon, and we'll have our own fabulous apartment in New York City."

They lean back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling as though it's displaying panoramic photos of their future, and she's so eager for that future, for New York and Tony Awards, and someday, she hopes, Finn.

**XO**

Saying goodbye this time isn't as hard, because she's so, so certain of their relationship. He tells her he'll see her on her birthday and kisses her one last time and she waves goodbye and walks through security with Kurt and Burt and Carole, and she likes that she fits so well in this family.

Going back to school that Monday is so weird, since she's been so used to adulthood with Finn, but it's nice to see all her friends. Tina is a little jealous of her and Finn, she can just tell from her tone when she asks about her break, but she's got Artie _right here_ and Finn is so far away sometimes when he calls she's already asleep.

Sam is quite weird, too, when rehearsals resume for glee club. They have sectionals _this weekend_ and she's so excited to compete for the very first time, but Sam keeps getting his cues for their duet wrong.

"Sam, it isn't even _hard_," she berates him. "It's just a simple step – "

"Rachel," Mr. Schuester warns. "Sam, try it again."

They run through it again and it's better, but still not perfect. "That was pretty good," Sam says.

"We don't need _good_. We have to be perfect."

"The diva is having a meltdown," Mercedes mutters, and Rachel sends her a glare. She's always mad at Rachel these days, Mercedes, for a few reasons. It is completely obvious that Sam wants Rachel _and_ Rachel gets to sing the duet at sectionals. But Mercedes gets the lead on the group song, basically, though so she shouldn't be so mad. Rachel is fairly certain Mercedes is more upset about the Sam of it all.

"I am _not_!"

"Alright, guys, let's run through the set one last time, and then you can all go home a little early and we'll reconvene tomorrow and work it out if there are any problems."

Rachel sighs, because she hates when teachers let her go early (especially for glee club!) and she doesn't really want to return to her empty house. It's so lonely these days, since Papa and Daddy are working somewhat late to afford for their upcoming time off for Hanukkah.

So they run through the number, it's acceptable (she supposes) and they head out of the auditorium. She's at the front of everyone, eager to get home and practice and maybe log onto Skype and talk to Finn for a little in between his class.

Except Sam catches up to her. "Hey, Rachel, wait up."

"Oh, hello, Sam. I'm sorry for being hard on you."

"Nah, I kinda suck anyway." He smiles and she's glad he's so kind and easygoing. "Anyway, d'you need a ride home?"

"No, but thank you very much. I've got my car today."

"Oh, all right. Well, if you ever need a ride, I can totally swing by, you know?"

"Yes, thank you, Sam. I will certainly take you up on that offer sometime." Perhaps tomorrow, so they can work on their duet in the car.

"You doin' anything this weekend?"

"Um, we have sectionals."

"That's Saturday."

"On Friday, I am resting my voice and my body in preparation!"

They're by the doors, now, and she pauses here because she doesn't want to be talking in the cold outdoors. Her voice is very susceptible in the winter. "Sounds fun."

"You should do the same." She pulls her scarf out of her backpack and wraps it around her neck. "Well, I'll see you – "

He cuts her off and grabs onto her scarf and he – he _kisses_ her!

"Sam!" She pushes at his chest and pulls away. "Sam, I have a _boyfriend_."

"He's in California."

"I am still with him. You shouldn't have kissed me, Sam!"

"I thought, maybe you were into me, but – but I guess not."

"Oh, Sam." She puts her hand on his arm. "You're a very wonderful boy. Any girl would be lucky to have you, certainly, but I have my Finn. And I love him very dearly."

"Yeah."

"And, I know for a fact a girl who _is_ available, and thinks you are very cute."

"Huh? Who?"

"Mercedes."

He blinks. "Jones?" She nods. "Huh. I never even considered it, 'cause she seems so – so cool and independent."

"Well, give her a shot. I think she could make you very happy, and you her. Goodbye, Sam! I'll see you tomorrow."

She hugs him, tightens her scarf and sends Finn a message making an inquiry about the possibility of a Skype session. She really is _so_ happy.

* * *

**tbc**


	7. VII

VII

_i chase your love around a figure eight_

_i need you more than i can take_

In December, Finn stops answering her phone calls and she changes her Facebook status to single.

He doesn't call on her birthday, doesn't send a _happy birthday_ text message, doesn't even like her birthday Facebook status, and if it weren't for his twitter account, she'd think him dead. She calls him, one day, a few days after her birthday, because she knows he's coming home soon. He doesn't answer, but she leaves a voicemail, tired of not talking to him, even if he refuses to listen.

"Hi, Finn," she begins, and already she feels her throat closing up, "It's me. Me, um, Rachel. And – I don't know where you are, what you're doing, where you're at…where you're at in terms of our relationship."

Pausing, she takes a deep breath. She's getting a bit verklempt, you see, and she needs a moment to gather her thoughts.

"I loved you so, so much, Finn, we were – you were everything to me." She takes a steadying, centering breath. "And I miss you. And I hate you for doing this to us."

And then she inhales, hangs up, and leans back on her bed, a little numb.

She kind of feels like she's unraveling. Like her heart is coming undone like this sweater her uncle Pete bought her for her birthday last year. It had caught on something, started unraveling slowly, at first, and then every seam came undone until all she had left were sleeves and strands and that's kind of how she feels.

Finn doesn't call, doesn't even fight, and that, she supposes, is how she knows it's _really_ over. She tries to be happy, to smile, to pretend it's not a big deal, but…

It sort of is a really big deal, breaking up with the first love of your life.

* * *

It makes her sad, watching his car pull into his driveway and knowing she's not the first person he'll want to see. Maybe she still is, but it doesn't _feel_ like it. And just last month she was counting down the days 'til his homecoming, would send him a text message proclaiming the number and he'd respond with a heart or a smiley face and she thinks that the frequency of the smiley faces, those were the beginning of the end.

She wonders what it is about the winter that makes Finn love her less during it. Why he can't seem to be hers fully in the winters, what it is about the gray sky and dead earth that hardens his love for her, but she thinks that now, she'll never know.

Perhaps it's a bit creepy, the way she's watching him, his body still tall and broad but thinner, tanner, warmer, stepping out of the car, stretching, hugging Kurt and then his mother, and it breaks her heart, you know, how happy he looks.

She has to look away, crawls onto her bed, answers Sam and Tina's group message, lies on her back and puts on her Finn Sad play list and just – just lies there.

Daddy comes in, sits with her, lets her cry because she hasn't done much of that since the breakup, and it's all sort of coming at once, that she doesn't really know who to be without Finn, that she misses him, feels like part of her has been removed, and _god_, she misses him, misses being loved by him, and how horrible, she thinks, that she can't remember the last time her (ex) boyfriend made her feel loved.

She's trying not to blame him. She texts Tina **SOS** and she comes over with this ice cream Rachel likes now that she's not a vegan anymore and they watch funny movies trying not to remind her of the boy next door who fell out of love with her.

"I loved him," she says, in the midst of _The Fantastic Mr. Fox_. "So goddamn much."

Tina kind of pats at her hair, comforting, so unlike Kurt, so natural in her comforting, and she supposes Tina has become the best friend Kurt was, before Finn and before Blaine and before he became someone she disliked.

* * *

She was supposed to go to Finn's for Christmas dinner, but she doesn't have to ask to know that invitation is revoked. It's better, she thinks, watching _The Princess Bride_ with Papa and Daddy, better than sitting next to Finn, his ankle hooking behind hers, flirting casually at the dinner table, apologizing a million times to Mrs. Hummel, _sorry I don't eat meat, sorry sorry_ and her casual head shakes, pats on the arm, at one point in her life she thought his mom would someday be her mother-in-law, and now, that thought just makes her heart ache.

But, okay. She's not going to _mope_ today. She is much stronger than that and she can get through these holidays. And not only _can_ she, but she will. Besides, this will only help her future on Broadway, she can call on this pain to add a bit more emotional depth to her performances.

She goes to Kurt's, though, on Christmas day just to drop off his present – this fabulous scarf she found at this vintage store that cost her an arm and a leg – and she knocks on the door because it doesn't feel like her home anymore, and Finn opens the door.

"Um."

She swallows, feels her chest tight. "Hi."

"Hi."

Blinking, "hi."

"You – said that. Already."

"Oh." She won't look at him, not at his body, he's still wearing Christmas pajamas and she remembers how last year she'd come over in her own pajamas, remembers how they'd cuddled on his couch, flannel-clad legs so warm pressed against each other's. "Um. I'm here for Kurt."

"Okay." He opens the door wide and she steps in, can feel his eyes on her. "You wanna take your coat off?"

"No, I'll be but a minute."

"Oh."

It's too hard, she thinks, this horribly awkward tension, not talking even in conversation, and she hates how _small_ she feels. "Is he – in his room?"

"Family room." The door is still wide open and he's grabbing the door knob real hard and she stares at her feet, and then he's bellowing, "Kurt! Rachel's here!"

She hears his footsteps and then Kurt arrives, shoos Finn away and she wants to cry but she won't cry here, not when he's in the house, and she tells Kurt _merry Christmas_ quietly and scurries home because she can't bear to be in his house anymore, not when things with Finn are so estranged.

Kurt tells her she's still invited over for the New Year's Eve party even though they haven't really been talking much this break. She debates with Tina for an hour whether or not to go and she decides, ultimately, it will be worth it, ringing in the New Year with her friends, even if Finn may be lurking around, she's trying this new thing where she's positive.

It's not working so far, but she's tired of moping. Surely moping can only lead to wrinkles, which will invariably lead to a condensed stint on Broadway.

Positivity. A girl's best friend.

"Rachel, you can't wear _leggings_ to a _New Year's Eve_ party, even if you are single this year," Kurt gripes, standing from her vanity and pawing through her closet.

"I don't _wanna_ go, Kurt," she bemoans, flopping onto her back on the bed. "Okay, no, I do. I wish to see Santana, you know that, but…"

"The thing with my brother, I know. And _this_," he pulls a black dress out, lays it on her vanity, turns back to her closet, "this precisely is why I didn't want you to date him."

"I thought you just – I don't know. Didn't think I was good enough."

He turns and shakes his head, "Look, Rachel, I know I'm – I know I'm really hard on you. And we don't get along that well and stuff, but you're like a sister to me, whether or not you're dating Finn, and I only didn't want you to date him because I _knew_ this would happen, and you wouldn't listen and – " He stops, takes a breath. "Anyway. He's kind of a lost soul, Finn Hudson, a wanderer, if you will."

"Yeah," she hums. "Thanks, Kurt."

"Now, black is always fabulous for the occasion," he says, aptly changing the subject, and she could not be more pleased. "You're lucky you've got long legs."

She looks at her legs now, clad in leggings and socks and one of Finn's old shirts (she can't bear to get rid of all the parts of him), and she shrugs. "I do suppose they are rather long considering my small torso."

"So disproportionate," he clucks, "but – in a good way."

"Um, thanks."

She puts on the dress, wears black tights, feels glamorous if a little bit funeral chic, and Kurt tells her black is very slimming. She feels beautiful, really, and she puts on these boots and she's never dressed like this before, but if Finn's allowed to grow up, to change, well, then, so is she.

* * *

Santana gets her sort of drunk sort of fast. She barely even notices Finn, lurking in the corners, laughing with his friends, staring at her as she dances on the make shift dance floor with Sam and Kurt and Tina and Santana.

Maybe it gets a little dirty, Sam's hands a little high on her thighs, but she feels a little out of control in the very best way.

It gets hot, though, and it's not even midnight yet and she asks to go outside for a minute because she's suffocating. Santana takes her arm and they stand outside and she's a little too drunk to know better and she takes one of Santana's cigarettes and feels like choking at first, but it gets better, feels better, once she gets used to it.

"You and Finn?"

"Mhmm," she murmurs on an exhale, fascinated by the way the smoke climbs like church spires.

"Sad, or what? I mean…"

"Definitely sad," she says, and she puts her hand on Santana's wrist, "_moping_. Almost numb-sad."

"What happened?"

She licks her lips, flicks some ash off the end of her cigarette, shivers. It's cold, even being drunk, but at least she's not crying. "I dunno. He stopped answering my calls. He stopped loving me."

It's all kind of a blur, her words, and Santana hugs her real tight, takes her in, pours her a glass of pink champagne, her secret favorite, and she sort of wanders around, dances with Sam, looks at a clock, feels Finn's gaze, and he's sulking, off in the corner, and if she were a petty girl, she'd kiss Sam right here on the dance floor, even though she knows he still likes her.

She'd apologize to him, Sam, but he doesn't look like he minds very much, and it's almost midnight so they turn on the television in the basement and she detaches herself from Sam, stands mostly in a corner, watches the countdown dwindle to ten, and then five, and then Finn, and then _one_ and she's too busy kissing Finn to shout _happy New Year_ with everyone else.

She's too drunk too appreciate it, kissing him again, but she is aware enough to know that she wants it, wants him, his mouth, his tongue, all the world melting away.

"Finn," she murmurs when she pulls away, "Finn."

"I had – I needed – "

He's wearing one of his typical plaid shirts but this one is new, and he's not wearing it open, he's got it buttoned and that's different, something he never did before, and she grabs at his collar and yanks his mouth onto hers.

It's been too long since she last kissed him. His hands run over her body, from her waist to her hips, cupping her ass and pulling her body flush against his, in the corner of his basement.

"I want you," she says. "I need – I need you."

"Okay," he murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers, and he takes her hand tentatively, looking at her with eyes so sweet, and she wonders if he's drunk like she is, or drunk at all, wonders what's going to happen as he leads her upstairs, away from the party and the music and the drinks and whatever else everyone's doing down there, up to his room where she pushes him on the bed and climbs on top of them.

It isn't how she wants reunion sex with Finn to be, but she doesn't suppose it is reunion sex. She supposes it's broken up sex, sex just to have sex, and this is what _men_ do, is it not? And women, too, and she wants to have sex with him, to fuck him, be fucked by him, and happy new year, really, and he's still so sweet to her, even when she's grabbing his shoulders, pulling him closer, he's still sweet and kisses her all over, makes her feel good, and it's so hard to coincide this Finn, who clearly loves her, with the person who's been ignoring her calls, who ignored her birthday, and she starts to cry before she comes, overwhelmed and drunk, and he tries to slow down but it ends, it ends, and she wants to cuddle up with him but she has to vomit first.

* * *

She wakes up, spooned against him, warm and sweating, bare skin sticking, her head aching and she thinks if things weren't so ruined, if she still believed in _them_, but she steals his shirt, tiptoes downstairs with her clothes and shoes in her arms, her first walk of shame in her life and she's thankful Papa and Daddy are visiting Nana in Florida, or else she'd be in _serious_ trouble.

Anyway, she takes a shower and cries in the shower because her head hurts and she feels sick and she had sex with Finn even though she shouldn't have and she still loves him, adores him, and she _hates_ herself because of it.

He broke her heart and she hates how easy it is for him to let himself back in without even apologizing, and she'll certainly never be abject to his kisses, or his hands or anything, but – but she just hates how she wants him, always.

She's moping on her bed, deciding that resolutions are for yuppies anyway, when there's a knock at her bedroom door. Assuming it's Kurt, dramatically, she calls,

"I think I'm dying," but it's not Kurt.

"Hi," and Finn's cheeks are red and he looks shy for the first time in a long time. "I, um…" He's holding a bag. "Your bra."

She could just _die_. "Oh."

"You stole my shirt," he says, indicates his shirt still on her body, and she folds her limbs close to her chest.

"Do you want it back?"

"No."

He comes into her room a bit, pauses. "Can I come in?"

Rachel nods, but scrambles to her feet, off the bed, moves so that the backs of her thighs press against her desk.

"I'm not gonna murder you or anything," he teases, but there's an edge to his voice like _c'mon trust me_ and it makes her not trust him.

"Yes, you are."

His laugh is warm and sweet and he sits on the edge of her bed like he belongs there and she thinks it's sort of – it's like how he's written himself into her pages, how he's put himself in his corner, not forced but like he belongs there. She thinks he might have, for a long time, belonged with her. To her. And now he's – he's free.

"Would you come here?"

"No."

"Rachel…"

"I have a box of your things," she blurts out, "but you can't have your shirts back."

"Okay." He swallows. "Rach – why'd – why'd you leave?"

She licks her lips. He owes _her_ an explanation before she says anything to him, but her mouth moves before her brain can stop her, "I can't be around you anymore."

"I – I suppose…I mean, I guess…I deserve that."

"Yes."

She doesn't think she's ever been this honest with him, and she takes little baby steps to him.

"I…" he sighs. "I wish you wouldn't have left."

"Me, too." She wonders if he knows she means she wishes _he_ hadn't left, hadn't left her, hadn't ignored her, Her throat feels thick again, and she comes a little closer to him, her feet carrying her until she's right between his knees, her hands gingerly on his shoulders. "I _hate_ you."

He kisses her.

She puts her hands on his face, and she hates him to her bones, to her core, and she thinks she really loves him more, that the love that thrums in her heart means more than the hate in her stomach, but it doesn't stop her from biting at his bottom lip so he groans a little, so he pulls her closer, his hands under her (his) shirt, his denim familiar against her hand as it brushes over his thigh, presses over him, his groans swallowed in her mouth, and she takes the time to appreciate the nuances.

His hand, big on her bare back, skin rough and warm, the flush of his skin while she's on top of him, pushed onto his back on her bed, and she pulls his tee shirt off, tosses it to the ground, kisses his clavicle and neck, his hands unclasping her bra, and it's slow and a little lazy and warm, so warm, his hand between her thighs, his mouth brushing her cheek when he asks,

"What do you want, baby?"

"You," she whispers, a little whine in her voice, "around me."

He shifts and he's on top, his hips pressing against hers and she helps him unbutton his jeans and then he's inside of her, and she's missed this, missed _him_, all of him, missed feeling close to him. She cries again, overwhelmed by it all and afterwards, once they've both come and they're lying awkwardly on top of her rumpled comforter, bodies close and he gets up, the messy part, her least favorite part, and she's breathless and heaving and she picks up his shirt off the floor, buttons it hastily, tiptoes to her drawers for underwear.

She doesn't feel used, and when she slips beneath her covers she wants to cry, because she still loves him so much, even in trying to hate him, and he comes out of the bathroom after a minute dressed again but he joins her beneath the covers, his thigh between hers, bodies like parentheses.

"Rachel," he breathes, his thumb brushing against the underside of her eye.

"I don't wanna talk."

"Okay." He puts his hand on her hip, pulls her closer. "Why?"

She narrows her eyes, but he's smiling just a little. She wants to fall asleep, she's so tired, so drained, but she wants to stare at him all the more. He never really used to let a beard grow, never used to let the scruff last past a few hours in the morning. Finn looks decidedly grown up, so adult, far from the boy she fell in love with.

"I don't know you anymore," she whispers, "and it scares me."

He doesn't respond.

* * *

They aren't back together, and Finn doesn't come home for summer, but he does call her, once, but she doesn't answer, busy with things, school, glee club, her friends, and she thinks she's dating Sam or something (sometimes they kiss) but Finn calls in April the night she goes to bed at eight in the evening, the night before glee goes to Nationals in Chicago.

She wakes up to his voicemail, his voice warm and sweet in her ear.

"Hey, um, it's me." He pauses, and she pictures him, sitting, perhaps lying, on his bed, his phone at his ear. "Finn. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I'm sorry, for leaving, for lying, for ignoring you, for ruining what we had, and you deserve an explanation. And I'm – I'm real sorry, you know, that this is late, that I didn't – over break – but you – we couldn't and I wanted to say that I'm really sorry. Um, I can't come home this summer, I've got a full time job this summer that I need to pay for school, but – but I miss you. And I still love you, even if I haven't made you feel that way. And I just thought you should know that everything that's happened between us – it's all me. You're perfect, I love you, and I want you to visit this summer, so call me back, and um – good luck, with your show choir thing. You'll totally be awesome up there."

She doesn't call him back.

* * *

It starts with a text message, a brief conversation the morning on the first day of her senior year of high school.

_**Hey good luck today x Finn**_

Rachel is very good at answering text messages, she'll have you know, and can even come up with droll responses to droll questions but this throws her off. Finn hasn't really talked to her since that message in April, and she hasn't talked to him since winter break last year and she misses him, she does, but she remembers what Santana said, about that girl Brittany, and she thinks that's right.

She will always love Finn Hudson. He was her first time, her first kiss, her first love, the first boy who paid her any real attention, the first boy who made her think about marriage, the first boy to break her heart, the first boy who _had_ her heart, but her heart again lives in her ribcage, beats normally again, doesn't ache when she thinks of her boy in California turned man.

It's easy, now, and there are so many other things, there's Sam and Tina and Kurt and Blaine and Mercedes, all her friends, and senior year, and _this_ year, she is certain that her glee club will win a national title.

But the text message, Finn's message, sits in her inbox until lunch when she discreetly responds.

_**Thanks**_

Perhaps it's not her most colloquial, but it'll have to do. She doesn't expect a response, but when she gets the time to check her phone again, after the first official glee meeting of the year, her first as co-captain and lead, there's one waiting,

_**You're welcome x**_

And, okay. That little _**x**_ makes her heart pound a little, because she hasn't seen that in a long time, and she decides to respond,

_**Hi.**_

She's driving when she responds. Normally, Rachel Berry is _not_ one to text and drive, however, she breaks the rules, just this once, at a stoplight, reads Finn's message, _**Hi, back**_.

That's sort of how it starts, the steady ascent into friendship. She doesn't think she's ever really been his friend, but it's easy. He still ends some of his text messages with that _**x**_ but she doesn't think anything of it, and after a few months of text messaging, he's become her friend and she gets up the courage to call him, eager to hear a more detailed description of his life in California than his thumbs can make.

"Hey," he says, a little breathless, "sorry, I just had to run to my phone."

"Why's that?"

"I was making lunch and my phone was in my room," he explains. "You're lucky I have impeccable hearing."

"Lunch? Finn, it's nearly – oh, right. Time difference."

"Mhmm." She hears water running.

"What're you making?"

"This pasta thing. You'd probably like it, actually."

"Oh."

"What're you doing?"

"Um, sitting on my bed, talking to you. You know how I feel about multitasking."

His laugh is warm and familiar and she imagines taking that sound and turning it into something tangible, imagines that thing both beautiful and comfortable, but then again she thinks that describes Finn, beautiful, comfortable, and perhaps extraordinarily flawed (but that's why she adores him so).

"How's school? You, uh, doing all your homework and stuff? Staying safe."

"It's fine, thanks, Danny Tanner." He laughs again. "But, no, honestly, this year is going so well. I got invited to audition at NYADA, you know, and also at Juilliard."

"Wow, Rach, congratulations, that's – that's awesome. So, New York next year, huh?"

"Mhmm."

"Absolutely _no_ interest in California?" She can hear his smile, even if it makes her heart feel heavy.

"Finn…"

"I know," he murmurs. "I just miss you. And home. It's been so long since I've been home and I'm totally booked with work, even during the holidays. But we'll see."

"I miss you, too," and she does she _does_ she misses him so much. "Tell me a story."

"A story?"

"About California."

"Okay."

* * *

She's home alone on her birthday, just for the day, Papa and Daddy are coming home in the evening to make her dinner, and besides, Sam tells her he'll stop over sometime and Kurt already came for breakfast and Tina will be here eventually, too. She's not sure if she's dating Sam or not, they still kiss sometimes, but she sees him flirting with Tina, who broke up with Artie, like, four months ago, and he's already moved onto this new girl, Sugar, so.

But anyway she likes to walk around and sing her heart out when she's home alone, and she finds herself singing a Frank Sinatra song and she sings all the way to the door.

"Happy birthday," Finn says, and _Finn's here_.

She squeals and screams and tackles him, expects him to fall back, but he catches her because he's steady, strong, and she could cry she's so excited.

"You're here," she murmurs, sad she can't kiss him because she's not his anymore and he's not hers.

Smiling, "Surprise. And happy golden birthday!" He rubs the back of his neck. "Can I come in?"

He comes in and they don't have sex or anything but she kisses him, feels her heart heavy, laden, bittersweet because she can't have him forever but if he'll let her, she'll take him, now.

"You're my friend," she tells him, her hand on his shoulder, and then she kisses him.

He hums a little, puts his hand on her face, tugs her closer. "I love you," he says, and she doesn't answer, can't answer, won't answer.

"Thank you for making this birthday so special."

"I'm sorry I missed last year's."

"Finn," she murmurs, her fingers threading into his hair, "I don't want to talk about that."

"Not today," he decides. Again, he says he loves her. "I'm going back tonight."

"You came just for me?"

"I've got work tomorrow, and I needed to come home. See you, my mom, be home for a bit."

She kisses him again, kisses him and kisses him and he puts his hands under her shirt on her skin but he's not trying to touch her breasts (even though she'd let him), they're just kissing, and when he says goodbye, he says it a third time, the words staccato, raw, I Love You, punctuated by another kiss and Papa and Daddy don't ask questions when they pull into the driveway to find her kissing Finn still on the porch

But later that night, when Papa brings her tea, he sits on the side of her bed and runs his hand over her hair. "Are you back together with Finn?"

"Um, no," she says, looks up from her book, "he just came home today. For the day. For me."

"Sweet pea, you were kissing him."

"Because I – love him," she says hurriedly, "Papa, he's my first _love_."

"Okay, okay, darling girl. As long as you're being safe and that boy isn't breaking your heart."

"He breaks it and mends it everyday, Papa, but I love him, and it's worth it." He kisses her forehead, tells her not to stay up too late, shuts the door. She leans back and thinks about Finn, like always.

She's a little annoyed at herself, letting him back into her good graces and all, but he's been so sweet lately, so different from that person he was his senior year and beyond, and she thinks that someday he'll explain, perhaps when they're married or maybe when they're two friends, not married to each other, they'll laugh about how they'd run all over one another's hearts when they were teenagers, and he'll tell her he was sorry but _aren't we much happier now_ and they'll clink champagne and think of their different, separate lives.

The thought of him marrying another girl makes her sick, but she's trying not to think like that.

* * *

"I'm coming," he says, voice excited and breathless on the phone, "to New York. For, like, six months."

"What for?"

"This teaching opportunity has been awarded to me," he explains, "and I was wondering if you had any space in your bed for me?"

* * *

**tbc**


	8. VIII

**A/N: You're not imagining things this update is REAL! It's only been three months yahoo! All standard messaging rates apply. Or whatever. Dedicated to my fav lobsters, Rachel, Laura & Shanna! THX for responding to my snippets the way you do!**

VIII

_it's better to feel pain than nothing at all_

_the opposite of love's indifference_

The day Finn is due to arrive in New York, she puts on her favorite pair of jeans. She's growing up, you see. After all, she's been in New York since August and it's almost December now, and she finally feels like she belongs somewhere.

She trips when she puts them on and slams onto the ground, which is really so very embarrassing and Santana pops her head in the door with her eyebrows raised.

"Do I even wanna ask?"

Rachel glares from her newly vacuumed rug and manages to get her jeans over her hips and this blouse Finn likes over her shoulders. She's not – she's not _dressing_ for him. She's not. She just…knows what he likes. The parts of her body that tempt him, and okay, maybe she wants to tempt him a little but they've been in an on again off again relationship since she was _fifteen_ and so what if she wants to tempt him a little?

She steps out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, brews a pot of tea and leans against the counter. Santana's working today but not until ten thirty, so it doesn't really surprise Rachel when she steps into the kitchen and pours a glass of milk and starts ribbing Rachel.

"What, you dressing up for the giant?"

"Santana…"

"I mean, hey, I can't really stop you from letting him walk all over you." Rachel closes her eyes tight, tries not to say something mean or stupid. "I mean, you haven't seen him since…your birthday? _Last_ year? And you invite him to stay here?"

"I asked you first," Rachel says, sort of softly. "I made _sure_ before I told him he could."

"Hey, like I care if there's a third person to split this rent with, I just don't know why you're _so_ insistent on always letting him back in your bed when he keeps breaking your heart."

She drinks a little angrily from her cup of tea and it scalds her tongue and she's so _dumb_ sometimes and she's going to be late picking up Finn if she doesn't get going. "I know you're just being protective, I get it, and I love you for it, but – I love Finn. I tried to stop. I dated other people. We hurt each other but we fix each other, too."

"Fine," Santana mutters and Rachel's pulling a jacket on when she continues, "if he's a dick again, though, he needs to find somewhere to live."

* * *

She's nervous, standing by the escalators. He isn't her boyfriend but he's going to stay in her bed because their couch, well. It's small and uncomfortable and there's no way Santana wants him in _her_ bed so naturally, hers is the only option. It's surprisingly big, her bed, a queen, and most nights she feels extraordinarily lonely in it all by herself.

Anyway. The nerves. They make her stomach feel all funny and full even though all she's had today is a cup of black tea. She can still feel the bitterness on her tongue and she wishes she had gum. Abruptly, she remembers Finn fishing a pack of gum out of his pockets in the hallway after class one day, the mint on his tongue in his bedroom, her foot knocking a stack of books on the floor. They'd barely even noticed, at the time, too caught up in those stolen moments together.

She looks at her watch, at the escalator, back at her watch. Finn messages her and says he's arrived so she waits near the mouth of the escalator, puts her hands in the pockets of her coat and then in back pockets of her jeans. Crosses them, uncrosses them, thinks of the papers she has due on Monday that she hasn't quite started, thinks of Finn kissing her, of him ignoring her calls, their game of break and mend they've been playing since he moved to California.

And then she looks up and sees Finn before he sees her, the expanse of his chest and shoulders. He's wearing a collared shirt beneath a sweater and a jacket she's never seen and it sort of _hurts_, missing these integral facets that develop, all his little idiosyncrasies that she used to have memorized that she might not know anymore.

She watches him look around nervously, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. There's another one in his hand, and it sends this little thrill down her spine, his luggage. He's staying.

When he spots her, he smile probably the most beautiful smile ever smiled by any person in the history of smiling, and that makes her feel all warm, too. She just _loves_ him, so much, still, after all this time and months of not seeing each other beyond a random Skype video call that she spent most of crying into her hands because he was being _too_ perfect and too sweet. (Santana had walked in and thought she was crying for _real_, like, sad crying.)

Finn pushes his way through the crowd to her and then he drops his duffel bag at her feet and she absolutely leaps at him. He's not even surprised, barely stumbles, catches her and his arms are stronger than she remembers when they wrap around her.

He doesn't kiss her but he breathes, his words their own sigh of relief, every syllable, "I _missed_ you," like he's been waiting to say it since her last birthday.

This year she gets to celebrate it with him again, and perhaps not _with_ him, but at least he'll be near. She doesn't tell him she missed him too even though she did (does). She thinks he knows.

"It's weird, you know?" He's being conversational, after he's put her back on her feet and she's swiped away the moisture beneath her eyes before he can see. He takes her hand.

"What's weird?"

"Like, _this_. New York." He shrugs, looks around. "I dunno. You're gonna get, like, mad at me, or think I'm being a weird old guy, but I _still_ feel like you're my sixteen year old girlfriend sometimes. Like I need to protect you, still. And you don't need that anymore. Because you're an adult."

She wrinkles her nose and swings their hands. "I don't feel like an adult."

He kisses the top of her head and they're stopped at a crosswalk it. "You look like it."

"Really?"

He nods, closes his eyes, yawns. She supposes it _does_ feel early for him. "I'm taking a nap in your bed as soon as we get back," he says. Yawns again.

She would kiss him if it didn't feel wrong, even though he must be somewhat her boyfriend. Santana is gone when they get back and Finn falls asleep in her bed and she unpacks his things for him, pretends she doesn't notice the box of condoms she puts in the night stand on the other side of her bed even though her cheeks are hot for hours after. He wants to have sex. More than likely with her.

They've done it before, of course, but it's been awhile. She's starting to think maybe she doesn't know Finn as well as she'd thought. She's unpacking all these shirts she doesn't recognize, random band (she thinks) tee shirts and all these books she's never even heard of. He uses weird razors now but still uses the cologne she bought him for his birthday when they were really dating.

She's putting it beside his shaving cream in her bathroom and she just takes a breath of it, remembers kissing the part of his neck where the smell was most concentrated, remembers him pulling her into his chest in the hallways, laughing, inundated by the smell of his cologne in his shirt.

And then, she thinks, maybe it's a bit silly, thinking about his cologne so much when he wants to have sex with her and she climbs onto her bed beside him.

* * *

In the afternoon, fresh from a nap, she leads him around her campus by the hand, stumbling a little, walking backwards and they laugh together in that familiar way that you laugh with someone who watched you grow up, who you watched grow up.

He's wearing a hat and the way his fingers fold around hers is different and she remembers that their hands don't quite match up. "You're still so fucking small," he murmurs. She thinks it might be an insult, like how her dance teacher calls her a dwarf fairy sometimes, but he's smiling and she remembers that at one point in her life and their shared history, he couldn't get enough of her.

"I don't have an unlimited supply of steroids available to me like you do out in California," she teases and he wrinkles his nose.

They're at Starbucks, now, and he orders his usual and begins to order her a tea but she stops him and orders a skinny vanilla latte and she ignores the little exhale he releases when she orders and then pays for the both of them.

"When did you start liking coffee?"

"Um," she squints and the barista calls her name and she pretends she doesn't see his flirtatious smile or the heart left on the bottom of the cup and Finn puts his arm around her shoulders and it takes her a moment, by now unfamiliar with the weight of his arm, to allow her muscles to relax, to curl into him as best she can. "Junior year."

"Oh," he says and they sit in this corner and drink their coffee and don't look at each other.

Finally, she asks, "when did you change your major?"

"Uh, I don't really remember. Beginning of sophomore year? I think."

"Why?"

"I wanted to help people like my—and teaching just…felt…_right_." He closes his eyes. "Like, when I try and picture ten years in the future, that's what I see. Me, teaching."

"What else do you see?" She wonders if there's an older version of herself beside him in those dreams but he opens his eyes and scrunches his nose.

"I'll tell you another time. 'Kay?"

She nods and they finish their coffees and chat idly and when they get back it's almost seven and she's exhausted but Santana's getting ready to go out and she invites them but Rachel says no expecting Finn to stay at the apartment with her, but instead he nods and agrees to go out with Santana.

"Are you, like, mad?"

She's lying on her bed and reading the next chapter in her book for school and she looks up and shakes her head once. He's just wearing this gray tee shirt and jeans and he lowers himself onto the bed beside her.

"I feel like I should hang out with Santana. She's my friend, too, you know?"

"You're allowed to go out, Finn, I don't really care that much what you do."

She doesn't know what comes over her, but suddenly she wants to hurt him, in that moment and she immediately regrets it because he frowns and nods. "Okay. Cool. As long as you don't mind."

"I don't," she says, "and I hope you have fun. Please be safe."

He smiles at her and kisses her forehead. "I'll see you later. Don't, like, wait up, okay?" She nods. She _does_ have an early shift at the music store she's working at and she needs rest.

She watches him leave and Santana calls out and she spends her night alone, writes her papers, drinks tea, watches some silly romantic comedy on the television and goes to sleep before midnight.

Finn and Santana are exorbitantly loud when they arrive home, much past one in the morning, and when Finn tiptoes in her room, she knows he's trying to be quiet so not to wake her. But he bangs his knee quite loudly into _something_ and curses in this loud hushed whisper and she hears the zipper on his jeans and his rustling through his bags because he hasn't unpacked yet.

He smells like cigarette smoke and alcohol when he slides into bed beside her and curves his body around hers. "Hi," she murmurs, turning her head to look at his face. He's smiling. "How was the bar with Santana?"

"Woulda been better if you came," he says and nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. She turns and lets him kiss her even though his mouth tastes like beer and he smells like a bar and they aren't really dating but it's a short kiss, a goodnight kiss, and she pulls away after a minute and closes her eyes and in the morning when he wakes up with a pounding headache and a spotty memory, she doesn't mention it, that clandestine kiss. She wants to keep it simply hers.

* * *

Finn is a very considerate roommate. He always makes sure her alarm is set and cleans his plates and empties the dishwasher when it's his night on the chore cycle. And he's always willing to finish his shower early if she needs to pee – because even if they dated and are friends and sharing a bed now, she can't just walk in on him showering. They may be extraordinarily close but they aren't _that _close.

He always walks her home from the subway and always texts her his estimated arrival time. When she has a late rehearsal for whatever student directed play she's volunteering in, he comes to campus and they eat late dinners together and walk back to the apartment.

There are unforeseen obstacles. He likes to cuddle when he sleeps, for instance, and she always wakes up spooned against him and feels him hard against her. And she wants to kiss him because he's attractive and she knows exactly what it's like to feel his body on hers.

It's dating without the messy parts. The better parts and the harder parts and she feels almost like nothing to him and she can't decide if this is better or worse than that strange pending stage they were in at the beginning of her junior year, when every phone call from him felt like hours and the time away from him hurt more than anything. It was harder being in a relationship than not, it hurt more. Conceivably, being his friend should hurt _less_—but she thinks this hurts more than anything.

She needs certainty.

"So, wait," Santana says, licks her yogurt spoon, "it sucks more being, like, roommates and bedmates with him than being an entire country apart from him?"

"Yes," she responds, folds one of Finn's shirts that found its way into her laundry. "Is that bizarre?"

"I'm sorry, is my tone not sarcastic enough? Yes. Totally bizarre. If it sucks so much, why don't you, like, do something about it?"

She squints and piles her folded laundry in a laundry basket. "I think I'm scared. He scares me."

"It would've been easier to, like, move beyond this if you'd taken my advice and allowed yourself to get over him when he first left."

"I don't _want_ to get over him—"

"Get over who?"

"Finn!" She and Santana share a worried glance and she turns and looks at him, standing in the doorway, unwinding a scarf from around his neck. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long," he shrugs and toes off his boots and falls onto the couch beside her. "Who don't you want to get over?"

She wonders if his curiosity is more than that of a nosy roommate and if he's jealous. "No one," she says.

"You can tell me," he insists, "I'm one of the girls."

"Nice try, Hudson," Santana says and stands, crosses into the kitchen and tosses her yogurt cup away. "But I don't think that's gonna work."

Finn sighs and she won't look at him. "C'mon, Rach," he murmurs in this smooth and charming voice she knows is trying to coerce her, "I'll give you a foot massage if you tell me."

She raises her eyebrows and looks at him. "You'll do it anyway."

"Will I? What if I withhold them forever?"

She stands up and balances her laundry basket against her hip. "You're being quite overdramatic today, Finn Hudson."

He follows her into her room—their room—and he flops onto his side of the bed and watches her put away laundry. "We're friends, aren't we?"

She pauses. Then, "yes."

"Okay. So, like…friends tell friends secrets."

"No, they do not, but I applaud your attempt."

"You tell Santana _everything_!"

"Santana is my soul sister." He rolls his eyes. "Finn, telling you things is…complicated."

"How?"

"Finn, we dated for almost three years on and off and you broke my heart. I can't just tell you everything like we don't have a past."

He doesn't say anything for a long time and she finishes tidying up their room and when she finally turns to look at him he's just lying on the bed staring at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," she offers and sits daintily on the edge of the couch. "I shouldn't have been so blunt."

"No," he says and his voice is soft in a very contrite way. "I was really an idiot. I really am an idiot."

"You aren't." She wants to take his hand.

"I still—I still want you," he whispers and his face sort of relaxes and softens and he looks at her just like he did after the first time they kissed. He repeats, "I want you."

He leans up and he's going to kiss her, she knows it, and if she lets him, she won't have time to heal and she'll lose him again so just when his mouth is a centimeter from pressed against hers, she pushes at his shoulders, lightly, of course, and he moves away. His cheeks are red and now he won't look at her.

"Finn," she says, and her heart is pounding a little from his proximity. She presses her palm against his shoulder. "_Please_. It's not—it's not that I don't…"

"Don't what?"

She tilts her head and folds her legs and sits beside him, his body on the edge of the bed, turned towards the door, hers facing his side, her fingers curving around his forearm. "It's not that I don't love you, Finn. I just…you need…to give me _time_. To be certain."

He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. "I feel like time is running out but really, we've got all the time in the world." He props himself up on one elbow and looks and looks and looks at her. "I can wait for you. I—I _will_. Wait for you."

"I can't ask you to do that," she murmurs and trails her fingers up and down his forearm.

"You're not asking. I'm—I'm telling." He kisses her on the forehead and lingers for a very long time. "I know things with us have been tumultuous. But I wanna be with you. And I'm ready, now, and I know I wasn't here for you before, but I'm ready and I want this, you, and I'll wait until you want me, too."

"Even if it takes twenty years and we probably won't be able to have babies together?" she whispers and he makes this little groaning noise and presses his forehead against

"Even if we can't have a family," he reiterates and she wants him to kiss her. But he doesn't and he pulls away and squeezes her shoulder. "I think I'm gonna go for a walk. If you need me, just call, all right?"

She watches him go and she pulls her knees to her chest and leans against the headboard and thinks.

* * *

"So, tonight," Finn says, flops onto her (their) bed with his shoes still on and she turns from where she's applying eyeliner in the vanity and pulls off his shoes for him. "Thanks, sweetheart. Anyway. _Tonight_. We marathon—"

"I can't," she interrupts and meets his eyes in the mirror. "I'm…I'm going out."

"Out? Like, with Santana?"

She shakes her head. "This boy, Brody, from my dance class. I'm sure I've mentioned him before."

"Rachel…" She can hear it in his voice. She's breaking his heart.

Her breath feels like it's too shallow or something and she puts down her eyeliner and looks him in the eye. "It's not…I don't _like_ him. Brody. I mean, I like him. He's nice, and he likes me, and he flirts with me, but—but I. I don't know how to say this without sounding horrible and making you hate me."

"I won't," he says it, with his eyes all earnest and beautiful like morning, "I won't hate you."

"If I want to be…sure…of us. Of this. I need to—to date other people." He squints at her. "Please don't look at me like that. Brody's been asking me out for weeks, Finn, it's—it's one date. I just want to be sure. I'm not marrying him."

Her thoughts feel very convoluted and she puts her hand on his shoulder and slips her feet into her high heels and Brody knocks on the door ten minutes late and she ignores Finn's scoff from the living room and the date is nice. He's nice. He calls her sexy and pays for her dinner and walks her home and it's a very nice date but when she's at her door she doesn't ask to see him again and she doesn't kiss him and she tilts her cheek when he leans in so his mouth presses there instead of her lips.

"I don't think I can," she says when he asks for another date.

"We'll see," he responds and kisses her mouth anyway and she's frowning when she walks in. The lights are mostly off because it's after midnight and Santana's working early tomorrow and she toes off her heels and just stands in the cool dark of the kitchen.

"Hey," a familiarly soft voice says and she nearly jumps out of her skin.

"Finn _Hudson_," she exclaims, "don't sneak up on me!"

"Sorry," he apologizes, flicking the dim kitchen light on. He's wearing just his plaid flannel pajama pants and she thinks about feeling the fabric between her bare legs when she goes to sleep tonight. "How was the date with Brady?"

"Brody," she corrects, smiling a little, her back to him as she pours water into her electronic kettle and sets it to boil.

"Brody," he repeats. He steps closer and she can feel his body behind her. "How was it?"

"It was…" She pauses and her back is still to him but he's stepping close so that he's pressed right against her. "Illuminating."

He hums and presses his hands over her hips and she doesn't want to do this, here, when she can still taste another boy's mouth on hers, can still feel eyeliner painted like acrylic on her face. He turns her gently and she thinks about how familiarly his hands move over her body, a potter with his clay; when they kiss, finally, she won't be able stop.

"I don't want to do this here," she says, "not now."

"Did he kiss you?" He presses his thumb against her bottom lip where her lipstick is smudged and automatically her tongue swipes across the surface.

"Yes."

"Did you kiss him back?" She slips out of his grasp and walks down the hall to their bedroom and he watches her unbutton her blouse and slip it off her shoulders and he's all tucked in bed when she emerges from the bathroom, dressed in her favorite pair of pajamas. He repeats his question.

"No," she says softly, shuts the bedside lamp off. She hears his breath lurch, feels his body meet in the middle with hers, curved like two parentheses. "I didn't."

It's dark and she can hear his breathing even and not sleep heavy quite yet and his fingers brush against hers. "Why?"

She blinks and she blushes and she's glad for the cloak of darkness when she tells him, "He wasn't...you. He wasn't you. And I only ever want to kiss you."

His breath hitches and they don't kiss, but they will, and soon, because she's more than halfway ready.

* * *

He takes her to dinner, just the two of them, and he doesn't try to hold her hand or kiss her when they get back to the apartment. Nonetheless, it feels remarkably date-like, especially when he insists on paying for her and when they're back at the apartment, in their bedroom, and he's undressed and just in his pajamas and is reading some book and she's brushing her hair out at her vanity, she decides,

"I really like you here."

He glances up from the book and smiles a little. "Here? Like in your bed?"

"_No_," she insists quickly, cheeks warming, "here, like, in New York." And then, placing the brush down and rising from her seat, "With me."

She curls beneath the blankets and he's smiling and he looks back to his book. "Your birthday is next week."

"Indeed it is."

"You're gonna be nineteen."

"And _you_ are going to be twenty-one, soon."

"That's besides the point." He puts his book on the nightstand and looks at her. "What do you want to do?"

"Something that I've never done before."

"Okay." She expects him to say something more but he doesn't say anything. "Mind if I turn the light out? Are you ready for bed?"

"Wait," she says, putting her hand on his wrist, "what was tonight about?"

"Huh?"

"I mean…" Her cheeks feel pink. "You know."

"It was just _dinner_, Rach," he says, but he puts his hand on her cheek and the mirth on his face dissolves. "We're getting there, right?"

She scoots closer to him and slips her leg between his. And she won't kiss him even though she could. "Yes, we are. We're almost."

"Almost," he repeats and he leans in and she thinks it'll happen here, the kiss that reunites them. Instead, he kisses her cheek and she falls asleep curled into his chest.

* * *

"Wake up, sleepyhead," Finn murmurs, pressing his mouth against her cheek, her temple. "C'mon. It's your _birthday_! Wake up!"

She blinks sleepily and squints at him. "I don't have class till _two_," she groans, tries burrowing under the pillows, but he presses his palm against her back.

"I made you breakfast in bed, you idiot," he says, laughing, and she cracks one eye open to see a tray balanced on top of her dresser. "All your favorites, or, well, Santana said they were your favorites."

She doesn't know what to do other than sit up and stare at him and smile at him. It's snowing outside and the light in their bedroom (because it really has become _theirs_, Finn's things littered with hers, and she's dreading this summer when he'll invariably leave her) is gray and Finn's body is warm when it slides beneath the covers beside her after balancing the tray over her lap.

"You didn't have to do this," she says, taking a long sip of her tea. "Finn."

"I wanna make your birthday special." He sighs. "All your birthdays."

They're quiet while she eats and he even takes the plates and cleans them for her while she takes a bath and he walks her all the way to the subway and even rides the subway with her to NYADA.

"I'm gonna be here when you get out," he says. "Promise."

He's there and he takes her to dinner and she finally feels like she's ready, like she's had her month to heal, and he puts her hand on his elbow when he walks them back to their apartment and she tells him about this dog she saw last week and she's not sure, really, why it feels relevant but he's laughing and she's laughing and they stop in front of the apartment door and he puts both his hands on her shoulders.

"Good birthday?"

"The best," she says and he presses his thumb against the little pink pendant he gave her for her fifteenth birthday, which still might be the very best birthday gift she's ever gotten. It would be perfect, right now, for him to kiss her, for them to reunite, to meet in the middle, because he's already opened himself and offered his heart in his hands and she knows, okay? She knows it's her turn. "You make every birthday amazing."

His hand curves over her shoulder and his thumb runs along her collarbone. "I missed one," he murmurs. "Seventeen."

"It's okay," she says. "It's okay."

He meets her eyes and she puts her hands on the lapels of his coat and she's going to do it. She's going to stretch onto her tiptoes and kiss him but his lips curl into this smile and he pushes open the door of the apartment and it's black and he switches the light on and she hears, "_Surprise!_"

"You planned me a _surprise party_?"

All of her friends are there and everyone's hugging her and there's wine and people are shoe-less and sock-footed and she kicks off her high heels and Santana pours her a glass of wine and kisses her cheek and pours her a glass of wine that splashes all over the hardwood floor.

She's never, ever had a surprise party in her _life_ and she can't stop squealing and she finishes her glass of wine and the plum liquid splashes over the edge of her customized, thanks to Santana, wine glass when she pours a second glass and Finn puts his hand on her waist.

"Having fun?"

"This is the _best_," she says already feeling a little dizzy from the wine and he laughs and he kisses her forehead. "You are the best."

He has a beer in his hand and she drinks her wine staring straight at him and he's smiling and he doesn't say anything.

"Tonight," she murmurs, presses her palm against his and hooks her arm around Kurt's—_Kurt's_—neck because he flew in from California because he decided New York wasn't the place for him and he's here for her birthday and they dance to this random Flaming Lips song that Finn's been, like, obsessed with since it was in _Friday Night Lights_ and the plum of her wine splashes onto Kurt's white sleeve and she apologizes for, like, three hours but he says _it's fine_ and twirls her and she laughs and it's the best birthday ever.

"Finn looks like he's going to eat you," Santana says, her words a little slurred and Rachel gasps.

"Do you _really_ think he's going to try?"

Some song is thumping bass with a dance beat and she doesn't really know the song beyond Finn playing it around the apartment when they cook dinner together on Sundays and she realizes as she jumps up and down in her living room between her friends from NYADA and her best friend from high school that she's been dating Finn without kissing and having sex and being and acknowledging how much they love each other and quite frankly that is stupid so she stumbles out of the cluster of dancing friends and finds Finn in the corner of the living room near the fire escape and he's standing with Kurt who she pecks on the cheek for the four hundredth time tonight and he disappears when he sees Rachel reach for Finn.

"Hi, baby," Finn says when she puts her arms around his neck and he laughs when she guides them, stumbling ever so slightly, onto the fire escape. "What're you doing?"

"Remember," she breathes, spreading her fingers out on his shoulders, "remember I said I needed to be _certain_?"

"No," he murmurs.

"That's okay," she assures him and leans onto his tiptoes and kisses his jaw. "I don't think I said it to you, out loud. But—I'm certain. I am ready, Finn."

"Really?"

"I want you," she whispers, her mouth right against his ear. "I love you."

She kisses him, then. Finally. And he tastes just like beer and smells just like Finn and cologne and a little like a party and the air is cold on her bare shoulders and he wraps his arms all around her, crushing her a little against his chest and he's so warm and his skin is so familiar against her palm as she presses it against her cheek and she learns to breathe through her nose to kiss him differently.

Eventually, she pulls away and when she pulls in one shallow breath, he kisses her again. The party is still going on inside and the music is still playing and he leads her inside and she pours herself a third and final glass of wine, for the both of them to share, and he laces their fingers together and takes her into their—_their _—room and he presses her onto the bed and kisses her and kisses her and just before her dress is off, he kisses the nape of her neck.

"I love you," he says, hooking his thumbs on the waistband of her tights, tugging them off her legs. "Are you sure?"

She puts her hand on his cheek. "This is the best birthday _ever_. And I love you. And I will always, probably, certainly, love you."

"We need to—to talk."

She kisses him and it goes on almost forever, she thinks, this one kiss stretched into her entire lifetime with him and his mouth is on her neck when she tells him, "We'll talk in the morning. Promise."

* * *

**tbc**


End file.
